Manor of Lions
by LucyCrewe11
Summary: The last place Maria expects to find true love is in an enchanted manor, but she soon knows that she has it. Until fate turns on her and she loses it, learning that fighting for someone you love is more than just a matter of pride. AU. Maria/Robin HIATUS!
1. The Promise In The Will

**AN: Okay so this is an AU (AR?) Maria/Robin Fanfic based somewhat on the fairy-tale "The Singing, Soaring Lark" by the brothers Grimm. Please remember to R&R so I can know if anyone is actually interested in this story or not!**

None of the so-called 'mourners' had even seemed to notice Maria Merryweather standing with her small, somber white face staring straight ahead or her silvery-grey eyes blinking causally, not only to blink back a few tears shed in memory of the father she'd barely even known, but also to be sure if she was seeing quite correctly.

For, standing a little ways off from the crowd, leaning against a nearby tree-trunk, stood a bright-eyed boy just her own size and age (which, by the way, was about thirteen or so) with curly brown hair. He had a princely look about him that she'd always liked. She knew this boy pretty well, actually, because he'd come to play with her many times when she was only a very little girl, not much older than a toddler, and they had had many wonderful times together.

Then one day he had gone off and never come back. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to remember him. Her beloved governess, Miss Heliotrope, claimed time and time again that there was no such person, saying the curly-haired boy existed only in her charge's imagination. Which would have made much more sense had Maria been a very imaginative girl. She wasn't, not really-she was more sensible than most grown-ups and was always good at her sums in school. Yet, all the same, none of those precious few who were dear to her would believe her about the boy; so, not wishing to be made fun of, or-worse-thought mad, she kept quiet about it.

Still, she was very glad that he had come back, and resolved to go over and speak to him as soon as the funeral speech was over.

"Maria, child..." Miss Heliotrope gave her elbow a light nudge to remind her that she was to place a flower on her father's grave.

If Maria had been less prideful she might have thought, 'Some father!' and have worn an almost cross look as she dumped the blood-coloured half-bloomed rose on the dead-man's mahogany coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Merryweathers, however, were sort of infamous for being prideful, and such was Maria. She would have allowed no bad talk against her family, whether or not she truly liked them. She hadn't any now, since her father was gone; but that was beside the point.

It was believed that Maria had some warrior-blood in her veins, and that was probably true, for while she was the most lady-like little wisp of a thing you ever saw, she could get a look about her when properly provoked that made a person shiver and thank their lucky stars that she was not a boy. If she had been a boy, not held back by her perfect manners and love of French needle-point, she might have bloodied up a nose or two. So it was very fortunate that she was a girl born without a single tendency towards tree-climbing or roughing about. The world might not have been large enough to hold a person with Maria's senses of honour and pride-most especially pride-if such a person was not a gentle-bred creature who took her tea with her pinky in the air each afternoon.

It was true that her father had rarely been home, that since her mother died when she was little more than a baby, he had wanted nothing at all to do with Maria. He was in the army and would write from time-to-time that he was coming home. When she was younger, the letters had been addressed to Miss Heliotrope instead of to herself, and-barely knowing the tall, imposing man who stormed in demanding to see his child all of a sudden-she would burst into tears. As she got older and Lord Merryweather seemed to think it proper to write directly to her, she would be aware of his visits and prepare herself for the sight of him. She always appeared neatly-pressed, and as she didn't cry anymore, he seemed pleased and left a more generous sum in the bank for Maria's needs.

And now he was gone. Maria dropped the rose, watching it tumble down, making a light _thud _sound on the wood when it landed. Then she took another one-a bud of rich, deep scarlet on a dark green stem-and placed it on her mother's tombstone. She always secretly wondered what the woman was like but would say nothing about it, fearing that she would somehow offend Miss Heliotrope who had tried so hard to raise the poor motherless toddler that had been thrust into her arms upon her entering her new employer's household.

The boy had disappeared, no chance of going over to him after all, and Maria-grinning and bearing it-masked her disappointment and followed at her governess's side as they walked away from the graveyard. She knew where they were going next; to some official building to hear what her father's will was. Quite frankly, she was a little surprised her father had remembered to write a will out at all, but perhaps it was because he had had as much pride as his daughter and would not be shamed by forgetting something so typical, even in death.

The halls they walked when they were indoors and out of the fresh-air were marble and oak, very fine and solid. Evidently her father's lawyer was a wealthy man.

As she and Miss Heliotrope entered the room upon his bidding, Maria noticed that the lawyer was large, tired-looking, wore speckles that pinched his long hooked nose, and had a large jade ring on one middle finger.

"Ah, Miss Merryweather," He droned absently, glancing up at her with a discerning half-pout. "Sit down, please."

She sat down hastily, placing her hands respectfully in the folds of her long black dress. Miss Heliotrope took the seat at Maria's side and dared to reach out and hold one of her hands between the folds. It made her feel better, so she didn't pull away.

"This being the last will and testament of your father's," he went on, shuffling through some papers on the desk in front of him; "The silverware, the house, the carriage, the pony, the books, and the candlesticks, as well as the paintings, jewelry, and any other items of high-value are to be sold to pay off your father's debts."

"He...he..." stammered Miss Heliotrope, "...he lost the house? Everything?"

"Well, he states he wants Maria to keep her dog and her clothing..." he shuffled some more papers.

Maria thought of her dog, Wiggins, back home-no, back at the house that wasn't hers anymore. She knew her father gambled, but somehow she had not been expecting things to be this extreme. Wiggins, thankfully, would bring in no money. Unlike her pony, he was not a pure-bred creature; half-hound, half-some sort of shaggy black dog that looked more like a miniature bear than a canine. At least she still had him-he would protect her and Miss Heliotrope. It was only too bad that dogs had no ability to give houses to their owners. If her father proved to be as poor a planner as he seemed, in spite of his pride, then she, her governess, and her dog might end up living under a bridge somewhere.

No, prayed Maria, heavens above don't let it come to that!

"But...but...where..." Miss Heliotrope was breathless, sounding only a few short gasps away from a breakdown, "...where will Maria live? Surely he has someone...some relation...surely someone expects to take her..."

"No relation, madam." the lawyer looked grave as he pulled out a certain paper with a dark official stamp imprinted on it. "There is only this; it states that a couple years ago Lord Merryweather met a lion and stole something from him, and so had to promise to give him the first thing that greeted him upon returning home-in his will."

"Wait..." Maria held up her hand, swallowing hard. "Since I've started getting the letters-the letters from Papa-aren't I always the first to greet him?"

"That's right," said the lawyer, clinking his tongue. "Your father states the same thing in this document. It's very absurd, but it's also official and legal, and this place...Moonacre Manor...that he claims to have met the lion at...it _does_ exist. It's in the valley beyond the town of Silverydew. Whether or not your father was mad, or in too many sprits, when he made this out, there is no alternative. Whomever-lion or not-lives at Moonacre manor is now your legal guardian. There is no where else for you to go."

"But a _Lion_?" gasped Miss Heliotrope in horror, putting a hand to her breasts. "Mercy! Surely there...there must be some mistake."

Maria was very quiet, saying nothing, for she believed it; she knew there was no mistake. She cried a little to herself, thinking that her father had no right to promise her so easily, and without telling her. There really might be a lion, a real wild beast, ready to tear her to pieces at Moonacre when she arrived, and there was no one to help her.

"Maria, I'm sure your father did love you, it's just..." Miss Heliotrope tried to comfort her charge that evening when they were back at the house for their last night there. "...and you know, everybody does have to go out on their own at some point in their...er...lives. And-"

"Miss Heliotrope, I'm fine!" exclaimed Maria, a bit too harshly. Softly she added, "Really."

"Oh...I...I'll leave you to sleep then...Moonacre is sending a carriage in the morning."

"Miss Heliotrope?"

"Yes, dear?"

Maria curled up into a ball on the bed and murmured, "Lions don't send carriages normally, do they?"

"I suppose not..." the governess blurted awkwardly, hardly knowing what else to say.

"Then there's a chance it isn't really a lion?" Maria whispered, slapping the side of her leg lightly, signaling for Wiggins, who was at the side of the bed watching her, to jump up onto the mattress and keep her company.

"It certainly can't be a real lion, use your good sense, Maria." Miss Heliotrope forced a smile, feeling a little scared herself, though she didn't really believe it was a lion. "Probably it's only someone as brave as a lion, and your father knew..."

"...knew he would take care of us?" Maria guessed, not really believing that, comforting as the thought was.

"Yes, that's it, it must be." said Miss Heliotrope. "Goodnight, dear one."

The next morning, Maria awoke, washed her face, and brushed her long reddish hair, fastening the curls back with a neat blue ribbon. She donned a simple, puff-sleeved, silver-blue taffeta frock and brushed Wiggins thick black fur to make sure he was presentable.

"Miss Heliotrope," said the frightened child as an afterthought when most of the packing was done. "If there is a lion after all, you don't think he would _eat_ Wiggins, do you?"

Miss Heliotrope was caught between wanting to soothe her dear Maria's fears and her true option, which was that Wiggins, large as he was, was probably naught but a snack to a wild lion.

There probably was no lion anyhow, but she would not lie and she could not tell her charge the truth, so she simply stated, very diplomatically, "Wiggins is very brave."

"You're right about that," said Maria, proud of her dog. "Surely you remember the time he very nearly saved Robin and me in the park that day when you had gone to fix your bonnet...and he was only a puppy then!"

Miss Heliotrope was taken aback. "Who is Robin?"

Maria rolled her eyes; she had forgotten for the moment about her governess not believing in him. "He was my friend when I was little; his name is Robin, and he is bright and looks sort of like a robin, actually. It suits him."

"Ah yes," sighed Miss Heliotrope, humouringly. "That strange imaginary playmate of yours! You were such a queer little thing in those days, Maria, but you've grown nicely."

Maria sighed, kissed Miss Heliotrope's cheek, and went outside to say good-bye to the household servants. Formally, she curtsied and shook a hand or two, remembering only a few names of those she was leaving behind.

"Yes, yes, goodbye!" Miss Heliotrope, distrustful of most of her fellow-workers, huffed out quick farewells and ordered the footman to take her clothing trunk down to the carriage Moonacre had sent.

"Oh, Miss Heliotrope, you'll come with me?" cried Maria, filled with joy.

"Maria, I have been looking after you since you were a baby, and I am not going to abandon you now!" her governess told her sternly. "If you're going to live with some so-called lion in the god-forsaken countryside, then I shall be there with you."

The Moonacre coachman was a gnome-like chap called Digweed, and he bowed to them, saying, "You'll be Miss Maria Merryweather, then?"

"Yes, that's me." It was at the tip of her tongue to ask if his master was really a lion, but she bit it back, feeling a little shy.

"That'll be your maid and dog, then?" His wizened-almost dwarfish-face turned down at Wiggins and Miss Heliotrope.

"Governess," Maria corrected, smiling and stroking her dog's head. "And this is my Wiggins."

"Pleased to meet you." said Digweed to the dog.

Without further ado they got into the carriage and it took off.

The first few hours of the journey were delightful; just going around the familiar London roads Maria knew so well. Once she even saw someone she knew and waved, but they snubbed her because her father was dead and she wasn't rich anymore.

"Pay them no mind, Maria!" hissed Miss Heliotrope, indignantly. "You're a finer breed than they are-you've got warrior princess in your blood!"

"How do you know that?" Maria asked, arching a brow.

"Because," said Miss Heliotrope in a dead-serious tone, her face thoroughly somber without so much as a hint of humour playing around her mouth, "when you were a child, I had endless troubles getting you to eat rice pudding. So there!"

Maria didn't giggle, as most girls might have, but she did smile and lift her white ermine-fur muff to her mouth to hide it, pretending to stifle a yawn.

"Poor thing," sighed Miss Heliotrope, "how tired you are!"

Wiggins snorted, but Maria looked very hard at him, and he looked down, ashamed.

Things got harder when the roads were no longer paved, but rather pure dirt and filled with potholes.

By the carriage's fifth near-collision with what Digweed called, "An inconvenience, then" and Miss Heliotrope referred to as, "A beastly gaping hollow in the path", Maria thought she might be sick.

"Oh, I've a perfect knot in my stomach!"

"Maria, dear child, there is only one thing that can save us now." Miss Heliotrope told her, running her fingers along the spine of the French book she had been trying-in vain-to read during the journey.

"And what is that?"

"Classical French needle-point!" she pulled out two pieces of cloth and a small box of needles and thread from her copper-clasp purse.

"But..." protested Maria, thinking it too good to be true, "I thought you said we only sewed on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays."

"This," her governess said gravely, grimacing, "is a special emergency."

Maria nodded and got to work. At least she wouldn't have to think of anything beyond the thread in her hands and keeping count of the stitches; she didn't have to think of her father's betrayal just then, nor the lion waiting for her at Moonacre.

**AN: That's all for the first chapter...you want more? Then PLEASE REVIEW.**


	2. Welcome to Moonacre

**AN: Wow, not one single review for the first chapter (yes, I'm trying to make you readers feel guilty, is it working? LOL). **

"Oh, Miss Heliotrope!" cried Maria, leaning out of the carriage window at a rather perilous angle. "Look!"

"Good Gracious!" exclaimed Miss Heliotrope, not because she had seen whatever it was that had excited Maria so, rather due to an alarming fear rising in her breasts that her beloved charge was going to fall out and crack her head open if she kept that up any longer.

"Look," Maria said again.

Giving in, Miss Heliotrope leaned out of her own window and caught her breath in her cheek; it was amazing.

They had left those bumpy, dangerous, untidy-looking dirt roads behind at last and were now coming down a path of the prettiest brass cobblestone anyone had ever seen. All along it were little buttercups of the brightest yellow either of them had ever seen. It would have made them think of gold, what with all its gleaming brilliance, but it was too light for that.

"Oh, Wiggins!" sighed Maria, pulling her head back into the carriage now and throwing her arms around her dog affectionately. "I don't know how it is, but I think I feel a little less frightened traveling along this road."

"I think we can set the French needle-point aside for now then," Miss Heliotrope decided, packing up the thread.

"We've stopped," Maria noted, letting go of Wiggins and attempting to lean out of the window again before Miss Heliotrope grabbed her arm and shook her head.

"Maria, if anything happened to you...let me check."

"But, Miss Heliotrope, don't you see that I'm _less_ likely to fall out while the carriage isn't moving? Besides, I've good balance." Maria reasoned with her.

"You just want to satisfy your curiosity," Miss Heliotrope told her sternly, "but as you're so set on it, we'll both look."

They both looked out of their windows and wrinkled their noses in surprise; Digweed had gotten down and was knocking on what looked like a large rock.

"What is that man doing?" said Miss Heliotrope, shaking her head in dismay. "He's obviously a half-wit."

Maria didn't reply; she wasn't so sure about Digweed's sanity, but she sort of liked him all the same. He was hard not to like because he looked so harmless, almost babyish, and his eyes were full of child-like wonder and innocence.

"Oh!" gasped Maria suddenly, realizing what all the knocking was about. "I see it now; it's a kind of door, Miss Heliotrope, look!"

It was indeed a door, built right into the rock, wide enough for their carriage to pass through, but it was the same colour as the rock, which was why they hadn't seen it at first. As soon as it was opened for them, Digweed took his seat again and drove the carriage through it.

It was a dark tunnel with no light and at once all of Maria's good-feelings and comfort flickered out of her like a flame dying, and she clutched onto Wiggins tighter, trying not to cry.

Miss Heliotrope was alarmed, too, but she said nothing. She merely took an old tin filled with peppermints out, popped one in her mouth, and endured. Of course she offered Maria a peppermint as well, but she said no thank you and toughed it out without the mint.

When light finally came into the carriage again, they saw it was a very different kind of light than they were used to, especially in the afternoon. No longer was there bright sunlight or yellow flowers, or even a passing glimpse of shining brass. Here it was well-passed twilight and the silvery-white moon was out over a purple, blue, and pearl-coloured glade filled with little silver-black trees and little ebony bushes.

The path the carriage trudged along was white, but it looked comparatively dark to the bright moonbeams spilling everywhere round them.

There was a neigh and Maria looked around, sticking her head out once again, thinking she would spot a new horse in the glade, quite certain that it had not come from Digweed's horses. But she saw nothing, and to comfort her pale-faced governess, she ducked back in the carriage, trying not to think of all the splendor around them.

"I say, Maria," Miss Heliotrope whispered, "this is all very pretty-do you suppose this glade is near silverydew?-but I wish we would just come to the house already, it's getting a little eerie and it's not helping my indigestion at all."

Oh, thought Maria, I don't wish that, not even a little bit, this ride is lovely, but if there really is a lion to meet us...no, I just wish we could keep going on like this...and perhaps that I could see the horse, I know I heard him-or her.

"I think that's the house, up ahead." said Miss Heliotrope fifteen minutes later, peeking out of the window very discreetly. "I can see something flashing-like a light in a window."

Maria leaned out, careful not to do so in a fashion that was at all alarming, since it was so dark outside just then except for the moonlight. "It must be a very high window, look how far the light reaches."

"Mercy, a tower!" realized Miss Heliotrope, her eyes widening as the manor came into view.

"It's like a castle," breathed Maria, delightfully astonished.

"Certainly it's just an old-fashioned manor," said Miss Heliotrope as if that made all the difference in the world.

It _is_ a manor, thought Maria, but it looks very, very like a castle, and that is what I think I shall have to call it in my heart.

Wiggins barked once, lightly, and then put his paws on his mistress's lap and let out a slight whine. He was tired and hungry, and-not understanding that they were not ever going back to their old house in London-kept thinking he could never lead his poor Maria and her governess back home from this strange place, that he was failing a little in his doggy duties.

"Don't cry, Wiggins." Maria cooed, stroking his fur. Sometimes, when a person is scared, it comforts them greatly to believe that someone else is more frightened than they are and to, in turn, try to soothe them. To be completely truthful, Wiggins was not even half so scared as Maria was, but she didn't know that, and chose to believe he was frightened out of his wits and needed her to be brave for him.

"Poor Wiggins." Miss Heliotrope played along for Maria's sake.

"He was shaking," said Maria, "but I think he'll be all right now."

"That's a relief," said Miss Heliotrope; "we've nothing to fear since Wiggins is feeling better."

I wish Robin were here, Maria thought to herself, he'd know what to do about all this-he always knew everything.

The carriage stopped again and Digweed said, very loudly, "That'll be 'ome, then."

"Frightful accent he has at times," muttered Miss Heliotrope as she got out of the carriage and stood before the great manor, not really disliking Digweed, though not fully trusting the strange little coachman, either.

Maria crept out behind her, dragging Wiggins along. She gaped at the manor for a moment; it was even more like a castle up close. There were four towers-and those were only the ones she could count from where she was standing, so there might actually have been more than just those-and everything was made of gray stone, and some of the walls had twinkling ivy growing up them in such pretty fashions that they seemed more like decorations than weeds.

The front door opened and a man's outline appeared on the front steps, booming, "Welcome to Moonacre!"

Maria swallowed and took a step forward.

The man came closer and suddenly he was right in front of her. He was tall and broad, pale skinned and dark-haired, with a purple waist-coat over a sky-blue doublet and black breeches.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Maria stretched out her hand to shake his.

He ignored her hand, chuckled his tongue, and said, in a very stiff, overly-formal tone, "Distressing circumstances, I am sorry for your loss, Maria."

"How do you know my name?" she asked him.

"Your father promised you to Moonacre, but we knew of you even before that; we know you far better than you realize, Maria Merryweather." He had a look about him that seemed almost like a smile but not quite, and it puzzled her.

"Are we to follow you inside, sir?" Miss Heliotrope inquired meekly.

"Unless you fancy sleeping out in the glade, I would suggest it." he chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh, and you are the guardian of my Maria now?"

"I suppose so, didn't her father explain the matter to her?" the man said with his left brow raised.

Miss Heliotrope shook her head. "I'm afraid, good sir, that his lordship was busy, frightfully busy and-"

The man rolled his eyes and groaned. "Miserable...truly horrid..."

"I beg your pardon?" Maria said uncertainly.

"My name is Sir Benjamin Wrolf," he introduced himself, his hands behind his back. "Moonacre Manor is to be your home."

As they walked through the dimmed halls, lit only by a passing candle in a silver holder here and there, they passed a mirror. Thinking vainly of how she must look after that long ride, she glanced at it and gasped.

The gasp was not for her own worn-out reflection, it was for Sir Benjamin, because she had seen, quite clearly, instead of the back of the man's head, a tawny lion's mane.

"Sir," she mustered up her courage, standing a little closer to Wiggins and wringing her hands while she spoke, "are_ you_ the lion?"

He laughed, "I am one of them."

"Are you the one my father..." her voice trailed off; she would not speak ill of the dead, nor would she willingly call her father a thief, even if he had stolen, so she did not know how to ask this question without swallowing her pride.

But Sir Benjamin understood anyway; he nodded briskly. "There we are, then, nothing to be done."

For a little while none of them spoke, until they came to a different corridor, arched with brown-stone and cherry-wood, and Sir Benjamin pointed down it and said to Miss Heliotrope, "Madam, your chamber will be down there, second door to the right."

"Come along, Maria," Hiss Heliotrope reached for her charge's hand; "I'm sure your room will be next to mine."

"No, Maria's chamber is up in the east tower." Sir Benjamin told them, handing Maria a candle so she could have something to light her way up the stairs she would have to climb to reach her room.

"Sir..." Maria stammered uncertainly.

"Please look at it before you protest." he said, not unkindly, as though he was sure she would be fond of it and did not want her to miss her chance because she was afraid.

"Go with Miss Heliotrope, Wiggins." Maria ordered her dog.

The dog wagged his tail, but he did not move.

"Oh no, child, keep Wiggins with you, he knows you are his little mistress and that is you who will need him tonight." said Miss Heliotrope gently.

"A brave princess and her dog," said Sir Benjamin proudly, "But I am a Wrolf, and a friend, neither of you will very probably harm me."

Maria smiled, thinking she might like being at Moonacre after all, now that she knew her 'lion' guardian really was a friend.

Though apprehensive about her tower-room, secretly Maria felt a little excited as well. There was something magical and fairy-tale like about those towers; and while she had out-grown most of her fairies by then, she was still young enough to be occasionally charmed by their novelty, and so she climbed the stairs with a great sense of wonder building up in her heart with each step she took.

When she came to the door, a pretty little thing of chestnut-wood with a brass-and-copper knocker in the shape of a horseshoe encircling a teeny horse-head rather like a chessman, she thought her heart would burst. Never had she seen a door so homey, and never had she had anything like that to call her own before.

Glancing at down at Wiggins with shinning eyes she opened the door and stepped in. It was a small entrance and no one who wasn't at least as slender as Maria was had any hope of fitting through it. This only made her feel even better, safer somehow, like this was not only her own little room, but her own little _world_; a world no one besides herself could enter or touch.

But, perhaps someone could, after all, since there was-in a delicate fireplace so petite it made her think of a large doll's house rather than a small human's one-a fire lit, and someone had to have come in and done it for her. It did not distress her too deeply, though, because she knew that it was no one she knew entering her private world, it could not have been Sir Benjamin-he was too tall-and Digweed was too stout. Perhaps it was a fairy, absurd as the thought seemed, because they were so neat and had left no ash whatsoever on the carpet upon leaving.

On the mantel, there was just enough space for a golden tin a few inches or so wider than Miss Heliotrope's peppermint tin, and Maria opened it, peeking inside.

"Wiggins!" Maria beamed at her pet, knowing he would like this. "Sugar biscuits!"

The dog whined and begged, pawing at her skirt.

"Dearest Wiggins," laughed Maria, remembering how growing up it had always been Wiggins, her dear dog, who made her laugh; "you shall have the biggest one." And, true to her word, she took out the largest biscuit and tossed it to him.

As the dog had his snack, Maria nibbled on one of them herself, and then yawned, crawling over into the bed. "It's so soft and just the right size for me..." she murmured, "I shall sleep well tonight, I think, Wiggins."

Wiggins barked and jumped onto the bed, curling up at her feet.

"I should say my prayers, but I'm tired, do you suppose God will forgive me if I don't tonight?"

The dog growled a low growl. He was actually growling at a wind that had blown passed the window, but Maria took it as an answer to her question.

"I suppose you're right," she sighed, sitting up in bed and saying her prayers very nicely before pulling the covers up to her chin again and drifting off into sleep with a clear conscience.

She awoke early the next morning; the sun was in her eyes because the room's windows all faced east. Evidently, her 'fairy' had come back, for the fire was newly lit, burning with fresh pinecones and small woodchips, and there was a present waiting for her on the little apple-wood rocking-chair beside it; something long and velvety.

A new dress? Maria wondered as she trotted over to the chair in her nightgown and bare feet, not feeling cold thanks to the soft, sheepskin rug that ran the length of the room up to the carpet.

It _was _a dress! A simply lovely thing spun right out of some ancient Grimm Brother's story; purple silk, princess-cut bodice, cascading down into a slim-waisted skirt of the purest velvet. The sleeves were sewn with dark gold thread over the purple fabric ending in black velvet cuffs with an L.W. embroidered into the left one. Around the lowish-necked collar there was a lining of black fur that matched the cuffs in looks, and the velvet in feel.

"What on earth?" Maria bent down closer to the dress and noticed a small bunch of little white flowers (sort of like daisies, she thought) placed gently at the waist-line. "Oh...how sweet, they've-whomever they are-have left flowers as well as..." she touched the dress, it was too smooth, too perfect, she felt uneasy as though she might wreck it.

Maria was not at all the sort of girl to feel gawky or clumsy, being a gentlewoman in training through and through, almost perfectly composed, but she felt unsure of her abilities just then. The dress could not be for her; surely there must be some mistake.

"No, I think not." said Maria to herself, walking back towards the bed, expecting to find her old clothing trunk before she remembered that she had forgotten to bring it up-having been so tired and Digweed being too wide for the door.

Wiggins walked over to the dress, sniffed it, and howled pleasantly.

"Yes, Wiggins, you're right again," she said, talking the dress up into her arms and letting the flowers fall into the floor, "I've no choice."

Before she could lose her nerve, Maria tossed the dress over her head and smoothed it out. It seemed to be her size, not too large nor too small, and now that she was actually wearing it, the fabric seemed a little stronger.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Wiggins..." she told her dog warningly, imagining how the lovely dress must be clashing with her wispy figure and fiery hair.

But Wiggins didn't seem up to scorning, he seemed stunned into silence instead. He backed away from his mistress before he was sure it was still her and came back, feeling a little stupid.

"But that isn't _me_ in there..." Maria said, glancing into the mirror at the princess staring back at her.

It was her, whether she would believe it or not, and she was left with no choice but to turn away at last with a heavy sigh and walk out her bedroom door, Wiggins right behind her, ready for breakfast.

When she had gotten downstairs, she expected to find the breakfast room first. Wiggins, thinking of his stomach, had taken off, sniffing for the kitchen, and so she had no way of being sure where the room for dinning was. She thought she found it at last when she came to a set of pretty French-doors with lacy white curtains with rose-patterns on them, but that turned out to be the parlor instead.

Confronted with this parlor, she momentarily forgot she had been hungry to begin with. Such a nice room was it, that she felt it was exactly the sort of place she should like to sit in as a slightly older version of herself, perhaps with a little daughter on her knee, sewing and telling stories and singing songs.

There were cozy arm-chairs; the fireplace was large enough to be mistaken for a closet with a missing door if it weren't for the mantel above it; there was a lovely set of chessmen of red and white marble on a golden-glass board on a round oak table in the middle of the room; and, best of all, there was a grand piano on a dais-just waiting to be played.

Maria's only quibble with the splendid parlor was that there were too many pots of pink geraniums in every corner, and in the windows. Not only did they seem out of place, but pink was also Maria's least favourite colour (some days she even thought she hated it) ever since she had discovered at the tender age of four that it looked dreadful with her hair.

Oh, never mind that, Maria's head rang out, almost feverish with delight, go and play on the piano!

They'd had a piano back in London, though not such a nice one as the one here at Moonacre, and Miss Heliotrope (who truly was apt at seemingly everything) had taught Maria to play all the classical music she could ever want to make.

Maria slid the slightly dusty, dark-wood cover off of the keyboard and began to play. The song was not something Hiss Heliotrope had taught her in London; it was a song that had been 'caught up' in the Moonacre piano for so long that it more or less played itself now that it was set free. Indeed, when Maria stopped playing, she was thrilled (both in a good way and in a bad one) to find that the keys kept going down and playing the song all on their own.

So flustered was she at this sight that she would not place so much as the tips of her fingers back down on it. She wanted to-but she was afraid. Her hands shook as she tried to bring them back to the keys, telling herself it was all right.

Suddenly a hand was over hers, gently guiding it back to the piano-keys. Once that hand was in place, it was the same with the other. Someone was behind her, their arms around her shoulders, helping her play the magical piano.

The touch was familiar, so at first Maria had thought it was Miss Heliotrope, until it dawned on her that the hands over her own were not those of a woman. Her first guess was Sir Benjamin, but that didn't seem right either.

When the song finally seemed to be over, the keys stopping of their own accord, Maria turned her head up to see who her helper was.

The person smiled. "Hello, Maria."

She pulled away, her eyes glittering, her mouth slightly agape. "Robin!"

**AN: PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!**


	3. Serena The Hare and Zachariah The Cat

**AN: Sigh, okay, look, here's the thing; I really don't want to put this story on hiatus, because I am having fun writing it, but this IS the third chapter and if I still don't get any reviews for this...I'm going to have to seriously consider puting writing the rest of this story off for a while...maybe I'll do another couple of chapters...but as for finishing it...I'm sorry to say this, but if no one expresses any interest in this story...anyone actually reading this may have to say 'buh-bye updates' for a little while. First and last warning, readers! (on another note if anyone is wondering why I changed the rating, I just thought it over and figured this was too soft-core for a T...at least for the time being so it is now a K+...no promises that it will stay that way, but we'll see, wont we? It all depends.)**

It was indeed Robin, in the flesh, though Maria could scarcely believe it, blinking several times to be sure.

"Robin," she breathed in delight. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here, Maria, this is my home." he told her, a faint twinkle flashing in his eyes.

"You live with Sir Benjamin Wrolf, the lion?" Maria asked, clearly stunned. She had wanted Robin with her so very badly, but she had never for one moment actually thought he would be there, much less _live_ there.

"He's my father." said Robin, glancing around to see if there was anyone else in the room besides himself and Maria. There wasn't. "And...there are some things I need to show you."

Maria felt giddy with a shivering feeling she had not experienced since their days playing together as children, however much Miss Heliotrope insisted it was only her imagination.

Taking Maria's left hand in his right, Robin walked her across the parlor to a large mirror. Naturally, hard as it was to tear her eyes away from Robin, Maria looked at her own reflection first, surprised to see that the same princess in the beautiful velvet purple gown was still there in her place. Then, slowly, she turned to Robin's reflection, gasping and letting go of his hand involuntarily.

There wasn't a boy called Robin with curly brown hair and a friendly grin in the mirror, in spite of the fact that there was one right beside her still. Instead, she saw, in his place, a black lion, dark as midnight, a mane as ebony as an onyx. His eyes were as red as two little blood-coloured rubies, glittering in their black sockets of felt.

"Oh, Robin..." she stammered, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

"Now you know the truth," he said grimly, taking her hand again once he was sure she was not afraid of him, only shocked by his reflection; "I am a lion, too, just like my father. My mother is a lioness. Nearly all our old servants, if they were still around, would have been lions, too, but they aren't."

"What about Digweed?" Maria asked; he hadn't seemed lion-like at all.

"No, not him." Robin told her. "His kind cannot be enchanted, perhaps because they are enchanted already by nature, I don't know."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not particularly," said Robin honestly. "Marmaduke Scarlet-that's our cook-is not a lion, either. He's a little dwarf, small and brown-faced, and he doesn't like to answer questions...it works out well because I don't much like to ask them."

"But how do you ever learn of anything if you aren't curious?" Maria wanted to know.

"If there is one thing I've learned, its that everything will reveal itself naturally, or unnaturally, in its own time-no need to push things or to rush. That's the Merryweather warrior mixed with the London rush in you, Maria, that makes you nosy, but you'll soon out-grow it."

Maria did not think she would ever out-grow it, but she was so happy to be with her old friend again, even if he was a lion, that she did not argue. She smiled and left him with the impression that he was right, letting that be an end to it.

"Merrow..." a deep rumbling purr echoed at their feet.

Looking down, Maria saw it was a simply gorgeous black cat; his fur was very short but as smooth and shinny as satin sheets and velvet-ribbons, his eyes were dark green, and he had an elegant way of tilting his large head that could charm the skin from a snake.

"That is Zachariah, Marmaduke Scarlet's cat." said Robin, bending down and stroking the creature gently between the ears. "He's telling us to please come to breakfast."

"But what was the other thing you were going to show me?" Maria's stomach rumbled, but she held off thinking about it for a moment.

"I can show you after breakfast," Robin laughed kindly, taking her hand; "you must be starving; besides, I want you to meet mother."

To be completely truthful, Maria was a little more interested in seeing the kitchen itself than she was the dinning room, because she had heard that in some households children take their meals in the kitchens away from the grown-ups, and wondered-in turn-what sort of childhood she would have had doing so at Moonacre. Also, it seemed more likely that she would meet the dwarf-owner of Zachariah in the kitchen than out in the dinning room, where, apparently, only Digweed waited on them.

She still liked him; however, she wished that he would have an original thought once in a while instead of his quiet glance followed by, "That'll be your breakfast, then, Miss Merryweather."

Along with Sir Benjamin, much to Maria's delight, was a beautiful little person far more thrilling to meet even than Marmaduke Scarlet would have been, a pretty woman so striking that at first she seemed young, until you saw her up close and found that she was at least middle-aged. She had silvery-blonde hair and rosy cheeks and lips, with warm, motherly eyes Maria had only known in Miss Heliotrope from time to time, and her dress was almost exactly like the one that had been left in the east tower room that morning, only it was blue rather than purple. She was such a small woman that Maria knew at once she could have fit through her bedroom door without making a sound-she had found her fairy visitor.

"Oh, Robin, is that your mother?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Oh," said Maria, wondering how Miss Heliotrope could be sitting so calmly, not even a little dazzled by this wonderful lady. "Is she a fairy?"

Robin tossed his head back and laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking. "No, of course not, she's just small."

Robin's mother rose from her seat, pushing her breakfast aside with her dainty white hands, and walked over to Maria.

Not knowing what else to do, Maria curtsied as she would to a grand queen. "Good day,"

"My name is Loveday," Robin's mother told Maria, taking the girl's hand in one of her own and kissing it lightly, lifting the child up as if she were trying to tell her curtsies were not necessary.

"I'm Maria," she said softly, "but I guess you knew that."

"Indeed I did," said Loveday, leading her over to the table. "Sit and have breakfast with us."

"Mother is the one responsible for the pink flowers." Robin said cheekily, now that Maria was taking a liking to Loveday.

At the mention of her geraniums, Loveday beamed and said, "Do you like them Maria?"

And Maria, for she was too dazed and excited to realize how much it would offend Loveday, said, "No, I've never really liked pink."

Loveday gasped reproachfully. "Maria, dear child, you dare to tell me that you, a sweet girl like you, doesn't like pink?"

"It's all right," Maria consoled her, "I'm sure we'll agree on other things."

"Yes, we will." Loveday flashed a forgiving smile at Maria and, reaching over, lightly boxed Robin's ears. "He was just trying to get us riled up."

"Do you see him now, Miss Heliotrope?" Maria asked her governess, realizing that she and Robin were together in a room for the first time in a while. She did not say this to be smart, only because she was genuinely curious and could not help it.

Miss Heliotrope stared at Robin for a good long time before saying, "I can't say if he's the one you played with or if its just your fancy, but I do like him, I think we shall all get along well."

"We will!" cried Maria with glee. "You, and me, and Sir Benjamin and Loveday, and Zachariah the cat!"

"Let's eat now," said Sir Benjamin, speaking up over the chatter, "we've not all finished our breakfast, and you've not started yours."

And so they ate.

Breakfast was delicious; pancakes, eggs, porridge, and three different kinds of sausages. So good was it all, that Miss Heliotrope found that her indigestion had gone away a little bit and she could enjoy some eggs and a few bites of porridge without any discomfort. Maria was delighted because she had always worried about her governess's poor eating habits, but knew she could never, ever comment on them-it would not have been ladylike, nor was it at all Miss Heliotrope's own fault.

When they were finished eating, Robin begged for Maria not to have any lessons with her governess that morning, saying he wanted to give her something and that it was so exciting that no one upon seeing it would be able to focus on studies or sewing or composing right afterwards.

"I suppose it's all right, if Sir Benjamin will give her leave..." said Miss Heliotrope with a sigh, not pleased with Robin's begging, but still liking the boy all the same.

"Oh, by all means," Sir Benjamin winked lightly at his son, knowing what the surprise was, thinking that Maria would like it very much.

Loveday smiled for the millionth time that morning and excused them both so that they were able to slip away and go down the corridor.

"Are we going near the stables?" Maria blurted out, trotting along at Robin's side, thinking aloud.

"Oh no," said Robin, "I'm afraid not, and if you wish to do any riding in the day, I cannot go with you."

"Well, I don't know how to ride, only how to be pulled in a carriage-that's all my pony in London was for-but do tell me, Robin, if you don't mind, why is it that you couldn't come with me if I did know how?"

"I can only be a human at night-when the moon is out-and inside the walls of Moonacre." he explained, looking a little saddened, his face a shade gloomier and his eyes less bright for a passing moment.

"Oh," Maria shook her head. "but you weren't a lion when you came to play with me in London, how can that be?"

"I'm not sure...I used to take a nap at night, under the stars, up on the hill where some of father's sheep live sometimes, and when I slept, I found myself with you in the daylight, in London, coming and going at will for a while.

"I asked mother about it, and she said she wasn't sure if it was my own need for company pulling against our curse-for we are cursed, Maria, I can't hide that from you-or if it was just a strange part of the enchantment that was never explained to us."

Maria asked as they turned a corner, "But who enchanted you?"

"It was so long ago that we don't know," said Robin, his nose wrinkling with displeasure, "but it was some nonsense over a wedding dowry and horses and strings of pearls...oh, I don't know...that's just what some have said."

"Says who?" Maria's brows furrowed.

"The old parson when he was alive; but he's dead now."

"Was he nice?"

"Very, a sweet old man-a friend of mine and my parents."

"When did he die?"

"At least four years ago, I'm afraid." Robin said, through his teeth, trying not to cry in front of her just then.

"I'm sorry," Maria noticed his face. "I shouldn't have asked-you always hate when I ask so many questions."

"Come," he said, changing the subject. "We're to the surprise now."

They were in a sort of laundry room with white tiles and a silver washing-tub larger than any Maria had ever seen before. The room smelled strongly of soap and hot iron, with a touch of old fabric and slightly burnt cotton.

Robin's grin reached ear to ear now as he took out a basket and handed it to Maria; there was something alive inside of it.

"How precious!" Maria nearly wept for joy when she saw the exquisite little creature peeking up at her. "A rabbit!"

"No, not quite." Robin fought back another laugh, not wishing to make fun of her _all_ day. "She's a rare Moonacre hare, but she is sweet."

"Can I hold her?" Maria pleaded, smiling at him appealingly.

"You sure can," Robin took the hare into his arms and placed her in Maria's.

Examining the furry brown hare with its silky ears, stunning eyes, and adorably twitchy nose, Maria was rather ashamed of herself for mixing it up with a rabbit. This hare was almost as big as Zachariah the cat, for one; and for another, the was regal in a way rabbits simply cannot be.

"Her name is Serena," Robin told Maria. "Do you like her?"

"Very much," Maria assured him, kissing the top of Serena's head tenderly and cradling her as if she were a new-born baby. "How ever did you find her?"

"I rescued her from a trap one morning when I was a black lion and she was a little wounded, and about to be eaten by a big dog that had not the manners of your neat, respectful Wiggins."

"May I keep her and look after her from now on?"

"That's why I saved her, Maria," Robin explained, touching her shoulder in a friendly manner, "I kept her for you...because I knew you would be coming and that you would like her."

_**AN: I hope the ending of this chapter is not too corny, I just couldn't think of any other way to end it. **_

**_PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!_**


	4. The Wedding Dress

It had not taken long at all for Maria to become adjusted to life at Moonacre. The more time she spent there, the more she thought it a pity she had never been there before now, that her father had not simply handed her over to these lions while he was still alive.

Sir Benjamin could be sour, but he was also a happy man deep down, and that made all the difference. No longer did Maria feel the absence of a likeable father in her life, though pride would always keep her from admiting it, since he was there to teach her all sorts of things her father had never found the time to show her.

Because, outside the walls of the manor, Sir Benjamin was a lion, he took to sending Maria to bed in the daytime and waking her up at the hour of night when the moon was at its highest, to go out. He gave Maria a pretty little dapple-gray pony with short legs called Periwinkle and gave her riding lessons on her, with Robin on his own black gelding laughing merrily at her side.

"You're getting on so well with periwinkle, my dear." Loveday commented when she saw Maria, gazing up at the stars and keeping her seat on the pony with perfect balance at the same time.

"She's a little feisty, but she is a good girl." Maria replied.

"Just like someone I know," teased Robin, making her blush as he pushed his horse into a canter.

"Ignore him," Loveday rolled her eyes; "He's just so glad you're here that he forgets himself."

"Shall I box his ears for you later, Loveday?" laughed Maria, smirking.

"Perhaps," Loveday winked at her.

"Loveday," said Maria, looking very inquisitive, "isn't Periwinkle a bit old? She's been at Moonacre for a while, hasn't she?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then who used to ride her before me?"

"Why," laughed Loveday, surprised that she had not guessed already, "me of course! I was a young girl just like you once."

Poor Loveday, thought Maria when the dawn was rising and she was back in her room, nibbling pensively on a sugar biscuit with Wiggins panting at her side, curled up next to her yawning his doggish yawn, poor all of them, really; I do wish there was some way to deliver them so that they could live in the daylight like everyone else does.

"Wiggins," Maria stroked her dogs back, "I've been thinking about this Marmaduke Scarlet person-you know Digweed can't, or wont, answer me anything, about this family's curse and all that, and Robin knows so little, but mightn't the cook know a bit about it? Not being effected by it himself and all?"

Wiggins yawned again; he had little to no opinion on the matter.

Perhaps Serena was a better converser, Maria couldn't help thinking traitorously of the hare when Wiggins ignored her so, but she was downstairs at the moment.

"I shall ask Zachariah the cat!" Maria decided, jumping up out of bed and throwing a crimson dressing-gown over her nightdress (perhaps in this case it ought to be called a day-dress). How she would find the aloof Zachariah, who in all the time she'd been there she had only met once before, she didn't know, but she was determined to do so anyway.

She found the great cat stalking the halls with his back arched and his eyes glittering with amber glimmers as he passed by a partially dusty mirror. He turned and noticed Maria, fixing his gaze on her.

She didn't move, she just kept on watching him, thinking she would simply follow him into the kitchen to meet Marmaduke Scarlet and that would be that, an easy end to it. But Zachariah seemed to have no intentions of letting it be an easy end to it in the least, because something in his stare told her she would not be permitted into the kitchens just yet.

"Oh, Zachariah!" cried Maria, pressing her hands together pleadingly.

He swished his long black tail and appeared to be shaking his head as well; he knew his master was not ready to meet her just yet, and that little Maria's curiosity would just have to wait.

"Please, Zachariah-" she tried once more; but the cat was adamant.

Closing her eyes, she gave in. "I see, I understand, perhaps later then..." Robin had said that all things reveal themselves in time-but, oh, it could be such a bother waiting for them to do so!

When night came again and the lions were awake once more, Loveday said she had something to show Maria after her lessons with Miss Heliotrope.

Maria read aloud and sewed so prettily that night, in hopes of being let off early, that her governess very nearly became misty-eyed and said that the country air and the wonder of Moonacre were having such a lovely affect on her.

When all was finished and the workbox and needles had been put away, Loveday came out with something wrapped in cream-coloured silk lined with seed-sized rubies, tied together with a ribbon.

Being a girl of solid manners, Maria curbed her desire to see what it was at once, after waiting so patiently for all that time, and gingerly lifted the ribbon before unfolding the fabric in a manner that would have made any properly-bred gentlewoman beam with unbridled pride.

Then she lifted out its contents; a beautiful white-and-red dress. The dress itself was silk and the red ruffles and sleeves were of small squares of well-cut velvet.

"Loveday, it's so beautiful!" Maria exclaimed, overjoyed that it was not something pink.

"It was my wedding dress," Loveday told her with a kind smile that seemed just a little forced as if deep down she could read Maria's thoughts and was just the slightest bit vexed at her for still not liking pink; "I thought it would fit you now and that you might like to try it on."

"May I?" Maria's silvery eyes twinkled at Loveday.

"You may," said Loveday, "why don't you take it up to your room and change at once?"

Carrying the lovely dress in her arms and planting quick parting-kisses on the cheeks of Loveday and Miss Heliotrope, she dashed up the stairs to her tower room and slipped it on.

If she had thought that the purple dress had made her look like a princess, she had been mistaken; for now, she saw a true princess in pure moonlight-elegance staring back at her in the mirror. For once her hair did not look quite so red, but rather almost an auburn-silvery gold, and the folds of the dress graced her tiny frame so tenderly that she looked at least as fairy-like as little Loveday.

When she came downstairs to show Loveday the charming results, Robin and Sir Benjamin were playing chess in the parlor. So stunned was Robin at catching sight of her that he dropped his piece, showing the first signs of clumsiness Maria had ever seen in him before.

"That's a nice dress," said Robin conversationally, when he found he could speak again. "Reminds me a bit of a wedding dress."

"It _is _a wedding dress." said Maria, glancing over at Loveday. "And I think if it is all right with your mother that I will wear in at my own wedding."

That got Robin's attention. "Wedding, Maria? Are you going to be married?"

"Someday; sooner or later, I suppose." said Maria demurely, sensing his discomfort and secretly enjoying it more than she should have, her eyes blank and coy on purpose.

"Ah, so who shall be the bridegroom?"

"I don't know," Maria grinned demurely. "Perhaps," she went on, stroking the silky white folds airily while she spoke, "I shall wed a certain boy I was very fond of in London."

Robin scowled angrily. "You most certainly will not!"

"And why not?"

"Because," he huffed, glaring at her with something that, if it was not apparent that he liked her so well, could have been called hatred, "you are not going to marry some nincompoop from London, the matter is settled."

Sir Benjamin, who seemed to pick up on his son's frustration and Maria's little joke before anyone else, choked back a laugh.

"I must marry someone..." Maria toyed meanly.

"Well you are going to marry _me_!" snapped Robin, fed-up with her play-acting by then, even though he didn't know it was play-acting.

"Boy!" gasped Loveday, wagging a fair white finger at him. "That is not how we propose in this household-do you think that's how your father spoke to me? You must say it very, very nicely."

Robin rolled his eyes. "I am a lion, mother, and lions roar. Thus, I shall not calm down or be at all nice until Maria sees reason and good-sense and agrees that when the time come for her to get married-"

"Oh, Robin, you can stop roaring." laughed Maria, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "I've decided to accept your proposal, since it seems the easiest way."

He calmed down. "Oh...okay then."

"You know she was talking about you, right?" Sir Benjamin whispered to his son when the fire had gone out of his eyes.

"Huh? When?"

"When she said a boy she was fond of in London...she didn't mean a true London boy-she meant you."

"Is that true, Maria?" Robin stared at her slightly agape.

She nodded and giggled.

And he threw his head back and laughed a very lion-like laugh until everyone was laughing along with him.

It was, perhaps, not the most romantic proposal ever given, but it was certainly memorable, and Maria always said she would have never changed a single word of it-not for the whole world. Not even Zachariah the cat could have made her change her mind if he'd wanted her to.

**AN: Please review.**


	5. Marmaduke Scarlet

**AN: This is just a short chapter about Maria meeting Marmaduke Scarlet. (I don't know why but I LOVE writing about Zachariah the cat, I adore that kitty!). Um, on a different note, it's not for sure, but I am still considering putting this story on hiatus. I feel really bad because A) I like writing about these characters and, B) I finally got some reviews, you were all great, and I implied that if I got reviews I'd keep going. It's just that I'm thinking about starting a different story (not in the "little white horse" fandom, if anyone's wondering) and I don't know how much longer I'll be working on this one before I do...so...we'll have to wait and see. Anyway, I am sorry and I will try to get some updates coming from time to time on this even if it does go on hiatus for a little while. **

Late one afternoon, Maria was awakened from sleep by the touch of a paw on her cheek in the lightest of velveted taps. Opening her eyes to the sound of a booming purr that made half the bed rumble, she saw Zachariah the cat.

She smiled at him and nodded in a bowing motion. "Good day, Zachariah."

For a moment his eyes, thoroughly emerald this time, fixed themselves on her and she knew, without being told, that the cat wished her to follow him. The day had come for her to finally meet Marmaduke Scarlet, and she was both thrilled and afraid by this prospect. She knew he was only a little dwarf, but there is always something a little alarming about meeting someone you have only ever known through hearsay for ever so long, so this feeling could not be entirely stifled.

She followed Zachariah through the hallways and corridors, glad to hear that he was still purring, clearly pleased with her. Maria was relieved to think that she was being invited rather than bursting-in and perhaps causing a row as she might have done had she not listened to the great black cat before.

Walking slowly and gracefully through the kitchen door and glancing around excitedly, ignoring the bright lovely room and its gleaming pots and pans, she looked for Marmaduke Scarlet.

Maria discovered him at last over by the silver sink with its beautiful puffin-head-shaped brass knobs and long copper, gold-rimmed faucet. There were little three-legged stools all about the marvelous kitchen, but the one next to the cook's side was clearly intended for no one else besides Zachariah, who took his perch with all the due ceremony of an Egyptian pharaoh.

"Are you Mr. Scarlet, sir?" Maria asked the little person who had his back turned to her, in spite of the fact that there really wasn't anyone else he could have possibly been.

He turned and his over-sized eyes in his little brown face smiled at her, assuring her that they were indeed friends, and that-for the time being-she was welcome.

"I am, little princess." he said, patting Zachariah on the head while he spoke.

"Why do you call me princess?" Maria asked him, taking an uncertain step backwards.

"Because, Maria, there must be a moon princess of Moonacre-Robin is the moon prince-and his mother is too old now to be a princess." explained Marmaduke Scarlet.

"But surely she can be the queen?" said Maria.

"Well, I'm afraid not, Princess Maria, for Moonacre never has queens or kings-though some thought the dead old parson to be kingly in his own ways-only princes and princesses."

"Oh, I see." said Maria, though she didn't quite _see_, not completely anyway.

"There is a prophecy that one day," said the cook ominously, grinning at her with all his little pearly child-like teeth, "a Moonacre princess will prove herself by swallowing her pride and breaking the curse."

"Are princesses-the ones that come here, anyway-always very prideful?" Maria asked, feeling a little ashamed of her own flaws-she knew them all too well.

"Always," said Marmaduke Scarlet.

"Oh, I'm sorry." she said to that.

"Tis not completely your fault," he replied. "Women in general can often be too nosy."

"Don't you like girls, then?"

"I like Loveday-and I like you and your governess, that's enough." He nodded to himself now, seeming quite convinced, unwilling to be swayed.

"You don't fancy most other females then?"

"Rotten gossips, lots of them, so perhaps not."

"All girls aren't like that," Maria stammered, feeling a little embarrassed as she strained to think of a single old London friend of hers who wasn't (besides Robin who, of course, didn't count because he was male, and a Moonacre lion besides).

"I know," he said a little hotly. "I've professed to that in saying I like those currently here, haven't I?"

"You've been delightful, Mr. Scarlet." Maria told him kindly, saying just the right thing. "But can you not tell me a little more about this curse?"

"I know only that it touches me not at all-except through seeing the pain of those I work for," he said sadly, blinking glumly at Zachariah, "but not much else."

"But how can it be broken?" she demanded. "You said a moon princess might put an end to it, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, something about swallowing pride and love...and the Wrolf motto..."

Maria's brow crinkled in surprise. "The Wrolfs have a motto?"

"Yes, it goes..." Marmaduke Scarlet coughed into his brown palm, straightened the red cap he wore on his very round head, and cleared his throat; "_The brave soul and the pure sprit shall with a merry and loving heart, inherit the kingdom together_."

Maria thought it over, mulled it around in her mind for a few seconds, then said, "It's lovely."

"It's short," sighed Marmaduke Scarlet, blinking and chuckling to himself. "I think that's the best that can be said for it."

"May I help you wash the dishes?" Maria asked, leaning forward and noticing the stack he had yet to complete cleaning.

"I wash on my own..." Marmaduke's gaze became slightly suspicious and Zachariah looked unnerved, too.

"May I dry then?" amended Maria.

"Dunno," said Marmaduke Scarlet, "are you a smasher?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you drop your hairbrush in the morning very often?"

Maria snorted and gasped, "Oh no, never, naturally not!"

He tossed her a checkered dish-towel and said, "Then you may dry; welcome to the kitchen, little princess."

She swept him a curtsy and got to work while he started muttering, "but I certainly hope you don't think you can just waltz in here now whenever you please-you must always wait for an invitation."

**AN: Please review.**


	6. In Which a Painting Talks

Because she was accustomed to Sir Benjamin knocking on her door to wake her every night, perhaps an hour after dusk (right before which she was vaguely aware of Loveday coming in and laying out her clothes, leaving her with a quick kiss on the forehead by way of routine), Maria was rather startled when, one remarkably still night that seemed to be void even of the hooting of white owls and the rustling flights of the flying squirrels in the nearby glade leaping from tree to tree, it was Zachariah and his purr and light paw-taps that roused her.

The cat had not visited her bedroom like this since that day he had given her permission to go into the kitchen and meet Marmaduke Scarlet. It had only been about a week ago, but it felt like much longer.

A pale orange-silver light streamed in through her window. Once Maria had rubbed the sleepies out of her eyes so that she could open them, she realized that Zachariah had leapt off her bed and was now crouched at the window, his eyes focused on the light one second, then on _her_ the next.

"Whatever is it, Zachariah?" Maria asked, suppressing an early-night yawn.

He wanted her to look out the window; that much was clear.

"All right," she said, looking around, quickly, for Wiggins.

Her shaggy dog was still asleep in front of the fire with no intention of getting up.

Wiggins was finally adjusting to the Moonacre habit of sleeping during the day and living joyfully at night for the most part. At first, he had protested to this, making himself a real nuisance, not only to Maria but also to Robin, Miss Heliotrope, and Loveday (he would have bothered Sir Benjamin, Digweed, and Marmaduke Scarlet, too, but he'd been unable to track down their sleeping chambers). Finally, though, he had got it through his head that Maria, and everyone else, had nothing against him; the only thing different was that the rule had changed; they slept when it was light out instead of when it was dark. That wasn't how it'd been in London, but then nothing here was like that-even a dog could figure that much out.

Sighing, Maria left Wiggins be and obeyed Zachariah who looked rather as if he were about to hiss at her if she kept on procrastinating.

"I'll open the window all the way," she said. "That should satisfy you, Zachariah, I hope."

The great black cat purred; apparently she'd guessed right.

She reached out and lifted up the petite silver latch, gently swinging the window open.

The orange-silver light was from, it turned out, an enormous harvest moon, orange as a desert at sunset.

There was a sound Maria had never heard before, roughly bell-like but with no other indefinable thread of familiarity to compare it to.

A chill whoosh came out of no-where, not over-riding the other sound so much as it added to it. It was like the wind was sweeping both that odd noise and the orange light all the way into her room.

As Maria got down on her knees and leaned out the window, she perceived a shooting star passing the moon, followed by dusty particles that were both dark and light blue at the same time, glittering, streaming along side the orange colour.

It was stardust, and the moon's light appeared to be charging it. Finally she could hear the sound more distinctly, as if were music. The music became speech, which, after a bit of straining, she found she could understand.

Zachariah had left her, it seemed, and she didn't like that, but she was too distracted by the stardust to feel very sorry for herself, that all her animal friends should abandon her like this when she didn't understand what on earth was happening.

_Maria, _the stardust said;_ Maria._

"Yes?" she replied.

_Maria, do you know why you are at Moonacre?_

"Of course," she said, without even thinking about it. It wasn't only that her father had given her up to the Wrolf Lions, it was also another reason. "I'm here to help Robin-to help all of them…Benjamin and Loveday, too-that must be it. The more I've heard about the curse, the more sure I am. But…what are you? Why are you here?"

_We are messengers of the stars, who, in turn are messengers of the moon; the message has been passed down to stardust, for we had to tell you._

"Tell me what?"

_The truth, about the curse._

Maria couldn't help it, she clasped her hands together like a small child. Finally she was going to learn the truth. At last she could understand, and if she could understand, then she could help them.

Better still, she wouldn't have to do it alone. She was certain that if, once she knew what was going on, she told Marmaduke, he'd be more than willing to help her. Digweed, too, probably, only he wasn't as clever as Marmaduke Scarlet, who knew so many big words that Maria thought the next time Digweed went out of Silverydew and into the regular world's town, she ought to ask for a leather pocket dictionary, because whenever she happened upon the cook-almost always by way of invitation, as she was also a little afraid of him, much as she admired him-she didn't always know what he was saying. That odd afternoon when she'd helped him with the dishes hadn't been so difficult, but she wondered if he'd done that on purpose to make her feel more comfortable during their first meeting.

Anyhow, the stardust went on: _Maria, do you see the horse-head of white marble sticking out at the back of your small fireplace?_

"Erm, yes," said Maria truthfully, at last, and with pardonable irritation. She'd thought the stardust was going to tell her about the curse, not describe the design of her fireplace. At any rate, yes, she did see it; she'd noticed it a long time ago, for it looked very similar to the one on her bedroom's doorknocker.

_Go and pull on it._

She thought she sort of understood now, that maybe there was something behind the horse-head that the stardust needed to show her in order to explain properly. Perhaps the mouth opened and there was a secret compartment. Maria wasn't usually very imaginative, but she remembered Robin saying once that it was partly to do with a string of pearls. Maybe this was were the pearls were hidden, and she could…do something…and change whatever it was that turned the Wrolfs into lions every day.

After nearly four minutes of her tugging stupidly at the mouth, she heard the stardust hiss: _No, pull down, pull down!_

"Oh." She pulled the head down, leaving the mouth alone, and she felt it shift as if it were a latch.

A few feet away, by her favourite chair, the wall moved, turning into a small door. Like her bedroom, it was too small an opening for Robin or Benjamin, or Miss Heliotrope, to get through, but it was just right for a slender girl of her small size.

_Go in; we will follow._

"I hope you know what you're doing," murmured Maria, unsurely. But she went in anyway.

It would have been dark, but the stardust shone brightly enough so that she didn't stumble. It was brighter still when she reached the end of a short tunnel and found herself face-to-face with an extraordinary oil painting.

So beautiful was the artistry that it took her breath away. Because she had been rich in London, she'd seen plenty of so-called painting masterpieces; this one was so grand and pure it made all of those look like a clumsy child's finger painting by comparison. Maria thought that before she laid eyes on what was within the silvery-gold frame here in this hidden chamber, she'd never known what real art was. Of course she would have never admitted that aloud, her well-bred pride would not willingly take such a hit, not even if the only beings around were made of celestial dust and nothing more.

The painting was of a what had to be a princess, garbed in long, draping garments of silken ebony-black brocade with a raised gold-thread design. The princess had long, yellow-white hair in two braids, tumbling down to her waist and lap. Her features were very (to Maria's eyes, anyway) like Loveday's, all wispy and delicate and fairy-like, but the character in the face was completely different. In fact, even though they looked alike, Maria thought that they couldn't be very closely related, Loveday and this unknown princess-woman. Perhaps they branched off from the same family, but it wasn't likely that Loveday was a _direct_ decedent. Benjamin was, probably, and-by default-Robin, too.

What struck Maria the most about the lady in the painting, however, was that, obvious Wrolf that she was-must've been, no doubt about it-the look on her face was stern, hard, very like the proud Merryweathers in that sense. Very like, she kind of hated to admit, herself.

Gathering up into a dark-looking cloud, the stardust threw itself at the painting. As soon as it had settled, the painting was animated. The lady-princess was no longer a mere drawing of oils and colours, she was as real as Maria. The only difference was that she was still inside of her frame, in her own olden-time world which depicted a sort of purplish-and-silver forest near the sea-shore lit by white moonlight, and Maria was still in her secret chamber at Moonacre Manor, all dark (now that the stardust was not with her), save for the bright light coming from inside the frame, falling on her face.

All the same, she was sure the woman could see her, just as she saw the woman, and she couldn't help but wonder if she would speak; if they could become friends somehow. The stardust had not explained about the curse after all, it seemed, only Maria had momentarily forgotten to concern herself with that.

"Good evening, Princess," said the woman.

Maria started, shocked. It was one thing for a dwarf cook, remarkable, truly uncommon servant though he was, to call her a princess. Even if it had been Loveday who said it…or Robin…but from this lady…it felt surreal. When she saw herself in her mind, she saw the London Miss with reddish hair and a distain for pink, not the person she was now becoming.

But, separated by the frame as they were, Maria found she could see her reflection in the lady's eyes, and, amazingly, there was a princess staring out of _there_, too.

"I haven't much time to tell you," she began.

"Who are you?" interjected Maria.

"I am not anyone, the woman who's mouth speaks to you now has been dead for nearly a century. I-we-are only the stardust, speaking through the mouth of a drawing."

"But who _were_ you, then?" she persisted. "Or, rather…" If she wasn't speaking to an actual person, only the stardust still, she might as well say, "Who was the lady in the portrait you've brought to life?"

"The first ever moon princess of Moonacre, the one who began the curse."

"_She_ cursed Robin and his family?" Maria was out-raged. The woman looked prideful, sure, but cruel enough to curse a good family? She hadn't thought it possible-not of this woman, and not of herself, either.

"Unwittingly, perhaps, but yes."

"I'm not sure I want anything more to do with this." But that wasn't true.

"Yes, you do." The stardust saw through that.

Maria sighed again and stared back into the eyes of the first moon princess. Her gaze was half accusing, half willing to wait for an explanation, a reason it wasn't necessarily her fault.

"Years ago," said the stardust as the moon princess, "there was a man who's first and last name was Wrolf. He was Sir Benjamin's ancestor. And he, too, lived at Moonacre Manor. Back then, not only was it as grand as it is now, but the place was also much newer and everyone with sense would have said he was lucky to inherit it. But he was discontented, because there was a certain ebony castle, by the bay, which he admired, and it was not his. Nor did it belong to anyone who had a disposition to give or sell it to him.

"The man who lived there was called William Black. He was not a bad man, but he was proud; prouder even than you, Maria. The castle and the half-moon crescent of water around it, as well as the small but splendid beach, had belonged to his father, grandfather, and great grandfather. Because of this, he was determined to keep it in the family.

"Much to William Black's annoyance, he had no sons. Thankfully he did have a daughter, who was beautiful and the apple of his eye. Such was her bravery and goodness that all, even those who couldn't stand her father, adored her. She was also beautiful to the extreme, considered to be white like snow, pale as a star, and pure as moonlight. She was regarded by all as the moon princess.

"When Wrolf the first heard of her, he didn't put any speculation into the tales of her beauty, abundant as they were; his hopes were all pinned on the notions that, if he could make the girl, whether she was a worthy creature or not, fall in love with him, he might gain the castle and properties of William Black.

"So he went courting her. She was an innocent, and as he was so good and far more courteous, and-she believed at the time-kinder, than all her other suitors, the moon princess told her father of her great love for Wrolf and begged that he would give his consent for them to marry.

"Now, William Black was among the shrewdest of men, and he had his suspicions about Wrolf's true intentions. Yet he could not bear the thought of his daughter's unhappiness if he denied her. She was a delicate lass and her heart, while brave, had also been naturally fragile from babyhood onward. Truly he believed it possible for her to die of a broken heart, longing for Wrolf, never understanding why her father, who had given her everything else she'd ever wanted, for which she had-as an honest daughter should-proved grateful, would not let her be with her love.

"He considered telling his daughter the truth, hoping she would believe him. At the same time, he did notice a change in Wrolf's character that suggested he might not have to say anything. Wrolf's first intentions had been selfish, but all could see that he'd fallen in love with the moon princess for real and had become a better man for it. And he was a lord, and wealthy, so William Black gave his blessing in the end.

"For a wedding present, he gave his daughter and her bridegroom an exquisite black cat of impressive size and handsomeness. Wrolf's gift to his future wife was a wild white horse, lured from the sea he now had access to, with a beautiful horn in the middle of its forehead; a unicorn. He said that only the purest animal deserved to be the mount and companion of the moon princess.

"Delighted beyond all measure, heart over-flowing with happiness, the moon princess announced that she had something to show them. They and other family members were not the only ones who had blessed her with an extraordinary wedding present.

"Unable to sleep from excitement the night before, she'd walked along the beach, gazing up at the full moon. The moon had whispered to her that it loved her as if she were its own daughter. And it had lifted her up onto a cloud and dropped into her hands a string of white moon pearls. Such was their power that they would grant wishes to those who possessed them.

"William Black demanded a wish of his own, as a bride price, which Wrolf was surprisingly reluctant to grant but the moon princess agreed to. But it happened, that as, after William Black had wished to live for ever and never grow a day older, Wrolf angrily snatched the pearls back and unintentionally revealed his true reason for originally courting the moon princess.

"She tried to bear it, but managed to live only a month with him before a feeling she'd never felt before, that of hatred, consumed her heart. She wished she'd never married him at all, because now she had no where to go to. The moon princess was too proud to try and obtain an annulment from Wrolf, embarrassed that she had still married him after she knew what he was really like, thanks to the moon pearls.

"So she took to riding her unicorn about all day and coming home to the manor at night, tired, pretending best she could to still love Wrolf. When she had a son, and he was born looking exactly like his father, she felt miserable, thinking she was trapped with _two _of them now. She wasn't in her right mind; her heart had broken, and she'd taken ill from riding when her body was in need of rest, or when it was pouring rain or snowing heavily.

"She decided one day to ride, not to her usual places (the park, the glade, a hill not far from here known as Paradise Hill, where there is the melancholy ruins of an old palace) but to her eternally middle-aged father's ebony castle.

"As she him of her woes, he was unable to stand her weeping and told her to whisper her troubles to the moon. If it had given her the moon pearls, he assumed, it would help her now.

"So the girl went out and spoke to the moon. And the moon told her to put the moon pearls around her neck and stand on the tallest tower in Moonacre and shout out a blessing or a curse. If she proved herself pure as ever before and shouted the blessing, swallowing her hurt pride, knowing that, despite what had happened, her husband did love her, and that none of this was her son's fault, she would be happy again. All of Moonacre would be contented for ever after, promised the moon, and even William Black would become a friend of their descendants. They would all be his grandchildren and great grandchildren, so how could he not love them? He already loved the first one, though he had not said so, nor even met the child. If the moon princess should seek vengeance, however, and scream out a curse, the family would suffer.

"The moon explained that nothing would change, and the moon princess would grow even more bitter than she now was; she would live only to a semi-old age before dying of hardening of the heart; and nearly a century later, when the family descendants stopped bickering with each other and found happiness, and peace and friendship with William Black on their own, they would become a manor of lions, cursed, until a maiden with as much pride as the moon princess herself proved humble and rescued them.

"The moon princess didn't know what a manor of lions was, but she didn't plan on cursing the family anyway; she wanted to make things better. She wanted happiness. Of course she would say the blessing and save them all from misery.

"Alas, when she got home, her husband, learning where she had gone, demanded how she dare go and confide with the family's enemy, the man who had selfishly not died and held onto her inheritance, never-mind that it bothered her husband more. Furious, the moon princess answered sharply and they quarreled.

"Wanting to make him suffer for all the unkind things he'd said to her, she said a curse from the tower, wearing the moon pearls, instead of the blessing. She instantly regretted it, but it was too late. The pearls vanished; the moon took them back as punishment for her stubborn pride. And the curse began.

"For years Moonacre was a house of unhappiness, for the children, all boys, were brooding and troubled. All the women they married and brought home became new moon princesses, and they all fought bitterly and grew to hate their princes. Until, that is, Benjamin, the last surviving male Wrolf of Moonacre by the time he'd grown into a man, married Loveday.

"They fought at first, but never hated each other. They had Robin, and made friends with William Black-still alive, of course-and so gained true happiness; for their was love behind their quarrels, never disgust. And so they became a manor of lions."

"Oh, dear," said Maria; because now she realized who she was in all this; she was the one who was supposed to save them all by swallowing her pride. How, she wasn't sure, since there had been no call for any drastic measures on her part as of late, but she'd keep her eyes open; she'd have to.

Suddenly, after learning the truth, Maria's eyes did literally open; she was back in bed. Zachariah was there, but he was sleeping besides Wiggins.

She would have thought it only a dream, except, when she got out of bed to check, there was a horse-head that revealed a secret chamber in her room; and the painting (not alive) was there as well.

**AN: Please review.**


	7. The Rescue of Peterkin Pepper

**AN: For anyone interested there is a new trailer for this fanfic up on youtube; you can link to it from my profile or find it on my youtube account under the username "lovetolovefairytales".**

"I've been thinking," said Maria aloud, partially to herself and partially to Serena, who she was holding in her arms; "about the curse."

Of course she'd been thinking about the curse; much as she'd thought about it before, ever since that painting had come to life-lit up by stardust-and told her the whole story, she seemed to find it hard to think deeply of anything else.

She was sitting out in the herb garden located towards the back of Moonacre Manor; the one the Marmaduke Scarlet's kitchen over-looked. There was a fresh-water well here, a deep cool one, and she liked to put her Moonacre Hare companion in a crook in one arm while letting her other hand dangle below the dark stones and get soaked through.

Serena twitched her nose.

Maria sighed. "I've been thinking about how William Black gave a special cat to the first Wrolf and the first moon princess for their wedding. Do you know, Serena, I felt something odd stirring in me when I heard that. And I think…it's not impossible…that it could have been an ancestor to our own Zachariah."

It was daytime, and she should have been in the house, up in her room in bed, but she wasn't; so she knew none of the lions were going to come out and converse with her about the subject. Maria suspected they were far more tired of talking about it-and even hearing about it, much as they were interested when she told them the story the painting told her-than she herself was.

Digweed was asleep, she was pretty sure, but she'd taken Marmaduke's condition being the same for granted, just assuming. It was, apparently, a wrong assumption, as the dwarf cook appeared in the garden, picking some kind of plant to grind into spices for their meals later, Zachariah at his heels, purring respectfully.

"Good day, Mr. Scarlet," she called to him, though not very loudly, so as not to disturb anybody within rage when the person she was speaking to wasn't all that far off.

"Good day, little princess." He smiled at her.

He's in a good mood today, thought Maria; then, oh, perhaps I could ask him what he thinks about my idea regarding Zachariah. I wonder, would it be very rude to speak of Zachariah's possible linage in front of him, or would it be worse if it I waited and seemed to be talking behind his back?

If Zachariah was a normal cat, she wouldn't have thought twice about the matter, but, clearly, that was not the case. None of the animals here, save perhaps Wiggins in some ways, were ordinary-or of the 'normal sort' of their species. Why, darling Serena, in her arms this very moment, was regal as a queen! No ordinary creature, she!

In the end she settled for telling Marmaduke straight-out, in front of Zachariah. He purred again and rubbed against her ankles, and Maria gathered she'd chosen right.

"I think," said Marmaduke Scarlet, mulling, "that perhaps Zachariah isn't the descendant, but, rather, that first cat himself."

"But," protested Maria sensibly, "he'd have to be an awfully old cat for that to be the case. Wouldn't he?"

The dwarf cook agreed with that but still stuck to his theory. "He was here before Loveday was a bride; long before Sir Benjamin was even born."

"I suppose," Maria gave it at last, "that perhaps the reason he's lived so long, if that's it, is because he's needed here; and he knows it."

Zachariah straightened himself out proudly, arched his back, and looked up at her, almost as if to nod ever so slightly.

"The animals here," said Marmaduke, "have more sense than most humans."

Not to mention health and will power, she couldn't help but think. Aloud, she only said, "More than the moon princess-or the first Wrolf-had, at any rate."

They sat out there talking for a bit longer, but Maria was finding it hard to understand what the cook was saying after a while. When they weren't discussing anything important, as the conversation had long turned from the moon princess or Zachariah, he fell into his habit of using many big words.

After Marmaduke had left her, Maria, rubbing her forehead, found herself thinking of her pony Periwinkle. She used to belong to Loveday, and Maria had taken her for an old creature despite her ability to bear a rider as firmly and strongly as if she were a young, newly broken foal. Now she had to re-think what 'old' in animal terms really meant.

If Wiggins, still young, lived to be old enough to pass down to a child-a son or daughter-then Maria would have thought her beloved dog had lived a good, long life, even if she wished it could be longer. Yet, Periwinkle was hers second-hand and as feisty and fast as she'd ever been. She was short, and a rider was close to the ground on her, but that wasn't because she was swooped with age, it was for no other reason than that it was simply her natural size. Besides, Maria wasn't very tall or large herself; which was why Periwinkle was so perfect for her-just like her bedroom door was.

And if Zachariah, still beautiful, was as old as Marmaduke Scarlet suspected, then what was to say Periwinkle, too, was not older than Loveday thought her to be?

Loveday hadn't said she'd brought Periwinkle with her when she came to Moonacre as a bride, so she must have been here before. Maybe even long before.

Thinking of her pony like that, almost breathless from the implications, seized Maria's heart with the desperate desire to be out riding. Of course she couldn't go back to bed now; not in such an excited state.

"I'll go out for a ride, Serena," she told the hare, putting her down. "You needn't worry about me." And she knew Serena would, if she didn't tell her otherwise. "I shall have Periwinkle to take good care of me. I won't leave Silverydew; I wouldn't dream of it. If I'm not back before the others wake at dusk, tell Zachariah; I'm sure he could get a message through-at least to Marmaduke, if not to anyone else."

Maria went back to her room for her gentle leather crop and favorite riding habit (which, like Periwinkle, was passed down from Loveday); it was dark royal blue (thankfully, not one scrap of pink) with golden-thread braid, a triangle-shaped folded down collar, and a matching hat trimmed with soft, black fur and a single long pale blue feather. Then she went to the stables, and brushed and tacked her pony, whispering her thoughts into her twitching ears softly as she proceeded.

Quickly and quietly, she swung herself up, and was off.

They rode through the glade. At night, it was all silver and white. In daytime it looked nothing like itself, but it was still beautiful in its own way. Maria missed the call of owls and the familiar purple and grayish birds with silvery-coloured beaks that only came out after the sun was down, yet she managed to take pleasure from the red birds, gray squirrels, and brown deer she caught sight off in the sunlight.

Wide awake, with no desire to turn back as of yet, she pressed on all about the park.

She didn't dare go into the forest at first, part of Silverydew though it was. Sir Benjamin had told her frightening tales of the thickening woods and forest; and even if she knew now that they were friends with William Black who must still be living down in the forest somewhere since you had to cross through the forest to reach the sea, she figured the fact that the Wrolfs never rode through there and her unanswered plea to just once ride down to the sea-side on their outings were not for no reason.

There were bad people in the woods. Maybe they were William Black's grandchildren, too; if he'd had another child after the moon princess had married Wrolf and left home (the painting hadn't said anything about that either way). Or maybe they were of another race entirely. At least, she knew they did not train their dogs aright, and that they set cruel traps for harmless animals; knowing how Serena was almost eaten when Robin saved her.

Maria had every intention of keeping the Wrolfs' faith and her resolve to be obedient, when, suddenly, she heard a scream. It wasn't animal, but it wasn't grown-up human either. It was the cry of a child; a small child. And it was in pain, clearly very frightened as well, judging by its sad little cries.

"You stay here," Maria told Periwinkle as she slid off her back. "I'd take you with me, but I know you'll step on a twig and someone will hear you. I must go in quietly and see what's happened. I'll be right back, don't you take off and leave me here alone, all right?"

She knew her pony would sooner die than abandon her, but she looked forlorn and kissed it on the nose as if she was afraid she wouldn't see her again before quickly dashing through the thicket, being mindful-at the same time-of where she was stepping.

There was a little boy, she now saw, frightened, holding onto a tiny dog just as she would sling her arms around Wiggin's great neck were something to suddenly shock, vex, or agitate her.

There were a few tall persons, all boys, teenagers, thin and lanky but well muscled in their upper arms, surrounding him. The boy himself was pump, very small in stature, and had golden-brown hair and chestnut coloured eyes; his dog was a pretty yellow-coloured spaniel with warm chocolate brown eyes and a cream coloured chin and throat.

Maria stood, as if paralyzed, unsure of what to do. She wanted to help the boy, but what could one solitary girl do? Part of her wished she'd stayed back at the manor and was safe, tucked up in bed, blissfully ignorant of anything happening here in the forest. More than that, she wished Robin or Sir Benjamin was there with her; they would have known what to do, even if they'd have been cross at her for going into the forest in the first place simply to satisfy her curiosity. For it was true that she had gone in because of the screaming, but when she should have turned in fear, her curiously pushed her forward; and now her anger and pride held her in place.

She would not leave this boy. Grabbing the biggest, knobbiest branch within reach, she ran out into the circle of crude youths, like a knight brandishing a sword.

"Go away!" she shouted idiotically, as if scolding a stray dog. "Get out of here! Leave him alone."

They laughed. One of them, sardonically, and not as if he really cared, asked what right she had to shoo them away.

Well, what right _did_ she have? Plenty, really, seeing as all of Silverydew was technically under Moonacre rule rather than officially under that of the rest of England, as far as she knew; or at least, that's what she thought Sir Benjamin had been trying to explain to her and Miss Heliotrope a few day ago, when she'd asked why the Silverydew vendors didn't charge Digweed any taxes, but the other towns, outside of their little world, did. And that made Robin their prince. And, one day, she and Robin were going to be married. Besides, Moonacre was already her home; some persons already called her princess. Which meant it was her forest and the little boy was her subject.

When she told them this, they merely laughed, and the one who'd taunted her tried to pull the knobby branch out of her hand. Which, needless to say, would have been easier had she, at that very moment, not been attempting to hit him with it in an uncharacteristically unladylike manner.

Unfortunately, the boy was much stronger than Maria, and her attempts to strike at him were soon thawed. All the more so since she was out-numbered and the other boys were obviously on his side.

The next thing Maria was aware of, her bottom was frightfully sore, the little boy was weeping and trying to get over to her as if to help her up but the big youths impeded him, and she was flat on her back, the chap who'd taken her stick from her holding it up above her.

He was about to bring it down and Maria winced, half-shutting her eyes, so she didn't fully see, as the stick was swung back, an old wrinkled hand come from seemingly no where and hold it so that she wouldn't be hit.

"Let go!" hissed the nasty boy, finding, to his surprise, that the old man's grip was a mite stronger than his own.

"Good morning, Balthazar," said the man in an overly-friendly tone.

"Who do you think-" began one of the other youths gruffly.

"Why don't you just go on now, back to your homes, before I tell Marmaduke Scarlet about what really happened to the bird Digweed bought him from the market two weeks ago…how it wasn't on account of Zachariah that that particular bird perished. I'll tell your Mums, too."

The boys blinked at him, uncomprehendingly.

Maria stared up at the old man in amazement. Why would they care about Marmaduke Scarlet knowing their wicked deeds? Or was it more the old man himself they were scared of than the dwarf cook? Their mothers, perhaps?

"Come on, let's go home," said the boy the old man called Balthazar, who was obviously the leader. "I've grown hungry; there's an excellent venison dinner waiting for us at home-and fresh fish."

They looked very hard at Maria as they left. And they scowled at the little boy who had now wrenched out one hand from under his little dog and was reaching for Maria's hand as the old man had just helped her to her feet.

"Why," whispered Maria to herself, "they're shaken up! It's in their eyes, but they're trying to hide it."

Sure enough, she heard the low exclamation of, "How'd the old coot know what we done to that dratted bird? Or that we were at Moonacre?"

"Come on, let's just get out of here."

"Thank you." Maria smoothed out her dress, shook off the specks of dirt and dried mud that clung to it, and smiled at the old man.

"Peterkin Pepper," the man addressed the little boy first, "are you well?"

"Yes, the princess came," he replied.

"So I see," he answered, "though she clearly needed a hand."

"Who were they?" Maria asked the old man, unable to restrain herself. "What did they want? And…and, if you don't mind my asking, who are _you_?"

"A friend," said the old man, as if that was sufficient, and, in a way, it was. "A friend of Silverydew and Moonacre. Nothing escapes my notice."

"I see," said Maria, not satisfied, but sort of afraid to press him for more information just then.

For she felt, in her core, as if, just like he knew the secrets of those boys, somehow this man knew every secret-any thought, good or bad-that she'd ever had in her whole life. She wasn't sure how it could be, this strange, white-haired, blue eyed, harmless man seeming both kind and fierce at the same time; not unlike the lions she lived with.

"I live in the village," Peterkin told Maria in small voice, "away from the wood. I followed one of the boys here when they stole some chickens from my father's coop. But I wish I hadn't; I was awfully afraid when they all crowded round like that. Only, I knew you'd come."

"How?"

"Robin told me once," he said. "It was an awful long time ago; and it wasn't actually me so much he was telling as my older siblings and Prudence Honeybun, the innkeeper's daughter who was staying the night with my family for some reason. But, when I asked why you lived in London and not Silverydew like us, he said you would come when you were most needed. And here you are!"

Maria gathered that this conversation Peterkin referred to must have taken place before she'd come to Moonacre. She wasn't sure he'd gotten Robin's meaning _quite_ right, but she was glad all the same that she'd come in at the right moment to save him; gladder still that the old man had come in at the right moment, too, and saved them both.

She wanted to thank him again, but when she turned to do so, he was gone. All that was in his place was a leather bound book; she hadn't the time to look at it now, but she figured she'd tie it up in her riding hat (she might as well take it off and put it to good use, since it was drooping already, however horrified Miss Heliotrope would be at the impropriety of it) and take it home with her to read later.

As for Peterkin Pepper, she couldn't leave him there. She'd have to ride into the village and drop him off. He was thick-set, but he wasn't very over-weight, so she thought-or at least hoped-that Periwinkle could easily bear both their weights.

"Come," she said, in as regal a voice as she could manage with a throat that was suddenly parched, "I'll take you home, Peterkin; my pony will take us to your house. I suppose your family's worried sick."

He stroked his dog's ears as the sweet creature let out a whimper of agreement.

"Yes, I recon so," said Peterkin. "Do let's go. Thank you, Princess."

"Come on, then," and she took his hand again and led him out of the thicket to where her loyal steed had faithfully waited just as Maria had known she would.

**AN: That's all for now, please review.**


	8. Louis de Fontenelle

**AN: Sorry if this chapter's a little on the short side.**

Maria was amazed when she first saw the populated area of Silverydew's village in the daylight. Whereas the glade had seemed, perhaps, to lack just a little bit of the familiar magic she had come to know during her night rides with the Wrolf family, the village looked alive and real when the sun shone over it. When she'd last seen it, it had had the appearance of a ghost town; pretty, she supposed, but lifeless. It had been so nearly dull that they'd rarely gone there, only once or twice at most, keeping more towards the park.

Now she saw people coming and going out of their little houses; fresh baked bread and pie being set out on windowsills to cool; little dogs yipping in the narrower roads where they were less likely to get run over by a cart.

There were some little persons, dwarfs very like Marmaduke though decidedly less grand, but mostly the people seemed to be of the normal size. There were a lot of children, though, and they mingled with the dwarfs so that sometimes, if they were wearing hoods or hats, or were merely standing with their back to you, you couldn't tell until you were up close which was which.

Peterkin Pepper waved to someone, a cubby dwarf woman with a non-dwarf baby in her arms. And the lady smiled kindly at Maria, as if unsure if she was doing right, and, minding her own business, put the baby back into the arms of its mother (a flaxen-haired lady standing to her left), and went into her blue-painted two-roomed home to have tea.

"That's my house," Peterkin told Maria, pointing to a sweet cottage with green shutters and a brown-straw roof. "That's my other dog, Bow, barking at the window."

Sure enough, from the window Peterkin indicated, there was a friendly but clumsy-looking white-and-dust-gray sheepdog barking up a storm.

Maria laughed at the dog and gave Periwinkle a little kick to get her to approach the cottage at a quicker pace. She felt a little bad, but she supposed it would be better for Periwinkle to have a respite from carrying around two people sooner rather than later; especially if the pony was half so old as she'd come to believe she might be.

Peterkin's parents were grateful to her, though they scolded their son for going off like that and putting himself in danger, and in the midst of thanking her for kindness and bravery (however much she insisted all the rescuing was really the doing of the strange but benevolent old man) were about to invite her to stay for tea when she realized she had not properly introduced herself.

"I'm Maria Merryweather," she told them.

They didn't recognize the name as the children might have, from Robin's stories told during his occasional visits, so they didn't take real note of her meaning until she added, when they blinked at her, confronted with a surname they were utterly unfamiliar with, "I live at Moonacre, with the Wrolfs."

The Peppers appeared to still want to be kind to her. One of Peterkin's aunts looked wary and stopped smiling, but she didn't stay anything, still feeling rather indebted to Princess Maria for her heroic deed.

Unfortunately, some wrinkled old crone, in the smaller cottage next door, over-hearing, poked her head out and stuck her oar into the matter by saying, "Be gone with you! Have you come to poison us with your new family's witch's curse?"

"Well!" Maria began hotly, despite the fact that she'd actually gone white in the face.

Then she saw that the Peppers were going back inside, sadly but determinedly, without even saying goodbye to her. Peterkin caught her eye; his own were misty and full of apologies, but his mother soon hustled him in all the way and shut the door.

Barely knowing why, Maria felt tears springing up into her eyes. She felt, unexplainably, as if someone had struck her across the face without just cause; and that, rather than wanting to hit back, she wanted nothing more than to cry about it.

"Oh, Periwinkle," she whispered when the lump in her throat had dissolved enough so that she could speak a little, "I thought we were welcome in Silverydew. It isn't the Wrolfs fault they're cursed-it isn't! And that woman, she…she looked at me like I had had a disease or something. Am I cursed, too? I didn't know a person could be cursed by association before she said that, not really, though I supposed and suspected a change in my person from time to time; like there just might be something slightly amiss since my coming here." She wondered what a second-hand curse did to a person, exactly.

If Maria had been a very imaginative-natured girl, she might have come up with several far-fetched possibilities, all terrifying enough to keep someone less loyal and prideful than herself from returning to Moonacre. As it was, she only hoped the curse was good and sensible enough to spare poor, dear Miss Heliotrope just as it seemed to have spared Marmaduke Scarlet and Digweed. She didn't mind being cursed so much herself; she was willing to endure any number of curses for the Wrolfs' sake-especially Robin's.

As her pony briskly carried her closer and closer to Moonacre Manor, soon at the glade, Maria felt better-lighter, somehow. Home was always welcoming, even to cursed ones. And it was delightful to be coming home.

There was a candle burning in the highest tower and many other cheerful lights coming from within though it wasn't the twilit hour as of yet.

And there, on the steps, was Digweed, waiting for her so he could help her down (short way down as it was) and take her pony back to the stable. Robin, in the form of a shaggy black lion, was also on the steps, watching for her intently. The sun was almost set now; shortly after she reached him, he'd be human again.

The thought of Robin comforting her was so deeply reassuring that although she had fancied she'd gotten past her desire to weep, thankful to be back within the soon-to-be-silvery glade, Maria found the tears springing up all over again.

One teardrop escaped and ran down the bridge of her nose.

As a sweet, silver-purple evening fell over Moonacre and Maria alighted from Periwinkle, as she had expected, Robin turned from a lion into a human boy, and, upon noticing her tears, embraced her without a word.

Then, after a few moments of quiet comfort, which not even Digweed with his usual comments of, "I'll take your pony, then," or "That'll be the princess returned" cut into, Robin asked, "What is it, Maria? What's happened?"

Pulling out of his grasp slightly so that she could look him in the eyes, she told him about how she'd gone into the forest and met a group of rough boys picking on a small one called Peterkin Pepper, and was rescued by an old man who's name she couldn't tell him because she didn't know it, unless it was written in the book he'd left, only she hadn't thought to-or had time to-check till now, and was then accused of being cursed.

"I thought Silverydew loved us and was proud of us," said Maria. "No one ever said…I think you or Sir Benjamin might have told me something to ward me off from going in the daytime."

"Not everyone is like that crone," said Robin, trying and failing to keep his tone mildly cheery. "Many of them do like us. The children all do; because they aren't superstitious-and even if they were, they find curses interesting, sorry as they might feel for us. And they all like us for our own sake; if we weren't cursed they wouldn't question our right to rule over them. To be honest, they don't now, Maria, they're just frightened, that's all. I'm sorry it hurt you, though."

"How is it that all the children know you so well?" Maria asked after a pause, letting what he told her sink in. "Isn't there mortal fuss when you come? If they think I'm cursed…what about you?"

"You have to remember," Robin answered, "that I've lived here all my life. I was here long before we befriended William Black and the curse was complete. We didn't know what we were doing; we only knew a little about the curse, and Father thought it was all stuff and nonsense, though I wasn't so certain."

"Why weren't you certain?" Maria wanted to know. "What did Loveday think?"

"Mother couldn't decide, and claimed she had no real opinion on the matter either way, seeing as we were contented and quite a normal family of good title. Past was past, she said. But I think she didn't want me to worry. She's a very remarkable sort of mother, as you know." He hadn't answered the first part of her question, and with good reason. "Come," he said, taking her hand, "we will go for a walk in the glade, along the property lines near the park, and I'll tell you the rest."

"Miss Heliotrope may worry," Maria said.

"No she won't," he responded. "Zachariah knows everything that happens around here; he'll pass on the message."

"Very well," she gave in, squeezing his hand lightly. "Let's go."

Once they were some distance from the manor, Robin said in a very low voice, "Do you remember what I told you about the old parson, the one who died?"

"Yes."

"He was the reason I wasn't certain; the reason I believed in the curse. He used to tell us all about it, the bits he knew anyhow, not the full version the stardust-painting told you."

"What was your parson like?" For she had begun to get rather an odd feeling this time, when he brought up the old parson; one she hadn't gotten the last time they'd briefly spoken of him.

It felt like the difference between personally knowing a person you're referring to as opposed to knowing them from hearsay only previously. But how could that be, with the parson dead for four years by Robin's count? And she'd been to no church lately, only having caught a passing glimpse of the chapel in Silverydew, so how could she have met a parson anyhow?

"He was a very good listener," said Robin, "but also extremely stern. He could scold anyone and have them just take it; he even gave Father a stern talking-to about allowing traps to be set on his land. It wasn't his fault, when he owns so much land by inheritance and can't control every inch of it. The traps were without his permission or knowledge. But when I asked him after, he said that the parson was quite right, and I think he was, too, somehow."

"No," said Maria, however gratified she was to know all that, "I meant what did he_ look_ like."

"Old." Robin struggled his shoulders. "That's all. Very old. His hair was all short cropped and white."

"What colour were his eyes?"

Robin's brow crinkled. Why did she want to know that? But, whatever, it didn't matter. "Blue."

Maria felt a heated prickle run up her back. "Blue?" she repeated, as if she'd never heard of that colour before. The man she'd met earlier had blue eyes.

"Yes, blue."

"What was his name?" Not that it mattered, seeing as she didn't know the old man's name either.

"Louis de Fontenelle."

The name meant nothing to her, but she felt that odd, unexplainable sense of familiarity at the sound of it all the same.

They changed the subject after that, per Maria's request. Robin didn't mind-his only ambition at that particular moment being to comfort her. And there were other ways to comfort someone he loved they way he loved Maria.

There were nicer, sweeter things to talk about, walking among the tall trees, edging round, back towards the herb garden haphazardly and with a lingering slowness that anyone in wait for them back at the manor would have found a touch aggravating.

Robin kissed her before he decided to head back into the manor, and he was never convinced that Marmaduke Scarlet hadn't seen from the window. But Maria, when Robin confessed this to her, red as she turned, said she suspected their cook was one of the kind that wouldn't hold that against them and likely wouldn't tell anyone either. She did say, however, only half-joking, that she suspected that Zachariah was with Marmaduke in all likelihood, and that she sincerely hoped the cat did not care about such human affairs because she felt she would lose just a little bit of admiration and respect for the magnificence that was the cook's extraordinary cat if he did.

Robin laughed at that, which contented Maria more than she let on, since she liked very much to make him laugh.

"I'll be right behind you," Maria promised, as Robin turned round on the steps leading into a back doorway of Moonacre, wondering why she wasn't at his side. "I only want to stay out a moment longer."

He shrugged kindly, glad that she was feeling better, and said he'd see her at the table since Sir Benjamin, Miss Heliotrope, and Loveday had doubtless sat down to their first meal of the night by then.

Before entering, Maria sat down by the well again and opened the book she'd found when the old man had disappeared. There, written in the flyleaf, was a name that made her eyes widen and a repressed gasp spring up into her throat. Yet, somehow, she'd half been expecting this since she heard the name from Robin only a little while ago.

_Louis de Fontenelle _

**AN: And they all lived happily ever after, the end...LOL, no I'm totally kidding...it's just the end of this chapter, not the end of the fanfic. Please review.**


	9. Of Weddings and Supposedly Dead Parsons

Although she was extremely curious in regards to Louis de Fontenelle, Maria was not to see him again for quite a while. Nor was she, for a good deal of time, to see Peterkin Pepper or anyone else from the village of Silverydew.

There came a change in the weather. Maria wouldn't have even known it was autumn in Moonacre Park and Silverydew if it were not dreadfully chill without let-up every single night at approximately the same late hour, shortly before sunrise; aside from that, the weather had been mild. Suddenly, without warning, snow came, falling from the sky for nearly a week without stopping.

If the glade had had shadows in its silver-colouring before, it had no lurking corners of dark blues and purples now, every inch of white was gleaming from the way the light of the moon poured down on it, even when it was only a crescent moon, a half moon, or a mere sliver on the velvety black horizon above.

They went on less outings in the winter, preferring to spend their nights at the manor. Maria played the piano for them all, Robin and Benjamin played chess against each other, Marmaduke Scarlet made sugar cookies and hot drinks like they were going out of style or existence, and Loveday sewed.

Noticing Loveday's beautiful needle-point, Miss Heliotrope found herself thinking that Maria ought to do more sewing, such as she used to do before she took to her indoor and outdoor exploration, which caused her studies to slide a bit, and said so aloud to Loveday.

"I think," said Loveday, very quietly, "that you're right. Maria ought to sew; but not for pleasure or learning, for a different purpose."

"Purpose?" Miss Heliotrope did not understand, at first.

Loveday leaned over and whispered something in the governess's ear which made the woman look both glad and solemn at the same time. Then she nodded, and said, plainly, not without a sigh for her dear one who was growing so fast, that she agreed.

They'd come to the conclusion, you see, that Maria should begin work on her trousseau. Of course they both meant to help her, for it would be quite a task for a girl of her young age-however competent at needle work she was-to complete on her own. But it was still a very serious thing, as Maria understood when they brought up the matter to her when she had finished playing the piano (though this was one of those times it remained playing by itself long after her fingers had removed themselves from the keys, which used to give her quite a turn but now had little to no effect on her as she'd grown used to it), because it meant, perhaps, that she might be married off as early as the upcoming spring.

Not meaning that marriage was entirely a sober affair; it was a happy one, and Maria thought it would be fun to be married to Robin, yet she was also keenly aware that it meant she was all grown up, no longer a little girl in the charge of her governess and under the guardianship of the lion her father had left her to in his will. And she was well-informed enough to know that married people sometimes quarreled, and that Loveday and Sir Benjamin had both resolved earlier on that Maria and Robin would not marry until they'd learned some self-restraint in regards to their tempers.

They still fought sometimes, but they did so lovingly, and Robin hadn't once gotten half so angry or upset as he had when Maria had deliberately provoked the time she'd tried on Loveday's wedding dress, nor even near so cross as he had sometimes been when they disagreed as children, playing together in London. Obviously, his parents must have noticed this about their son; and that Maria did less to instigate arguments on her part as well.

"Why must women and girls always sew so much before a wedding?" Robin asked Maria once, as he crouched down and sat beside the merry group of women, one middle aged, one almost old, and one young and soon to be his bride. "It seems like a lot of rot to me. We're rich as anything; we've got plenty of linen and table cloths and all manner of those things. And you can _buy_ gowns and caps and veils and whatever those lacy thingamabobs are…" He pointed down to a tiny embroidered cloth he, being a very typical sort of boy in some ways, couldn't name. Then, "You know that, don't you?"

Miss Heliotrope smiled and shook her head, reaching for her best scissors. Loveday and Maria exchanged what Robin found to be rather an irritating glance that said plainly, "_We_ understand these things, don't we?"

"I still don't see why anybody would want to waste a whole winter working so hard when you don't have to, is all." Robin looked discomfited, feeling out of place among the grinning women.

"It's a tradition, my son," said Loveday softly, her tone understanding. "Most men can't understand it. But did you know, that splendid waistcoat your father wore when he and I were married was embroidered by myself and my own old governess? And that the little stars and moons on my veil with the white roses was my own creation? I wouldn't take that away from Maria, not for the world. Men don't understand. How could they? Ask your father, he didn't; but like most good men, he accepts it."

"I never said I didn't accept it, I just said it was a lot of hard work for naught."

"I like it, Robin," Maria told him truthfully, cutting off a piece of thread and holding up a small piece of pearly lien she'd just finished the pale gold-and-silver border on.

That must have settled the matter for him, because he never said anything else about it afterwards, and he found other ways to amuse himself around Moonacre while his usual companion and source of amusement was busy.

The first day she noticed the snow in the glade beginning to melt, that first evening when they realized they could not all go out on a sleigh pulled by Sir Benjamin's horse, Atlas, as they were accustomed to doing on the rare nights that the women rested their fingers and minds from their laborious sewing, Maria felt her face flush and knew her wedding was nearing rapidly.

In her sudden shyness and awkward anticipation, it was Robin's turn to look comfortable in spite of all and to smile demurely, like he understood better than she did.

One evening, to distract herself, Maria asked Loveday about her governess and what had become of her.

"After all, if she hasn't died," said Maria, not tactlessly, "then she must be somewhere. And you, me, and Miss Heliotrope are the only females here; Marmaduke, I think, wouldn't like it any other way-he'd be very unhappy."

"He would," agreed Loveday. "And, to be sure, he was. My governess was not a quiet, meek, mind-her-own-business woman like Miss Heliotrope is, not at all. She has many other loveable qualities, but she drove poor Marmaduke Scarlet mad with her questions and poking into his kitchen without being invited."

Maria cringed and wondered how the woman dared. Either, she thought, she must have been extraordinarily brave or else very stupid.

She could picture the scene: Marmaduke's eyes flashing with resentment, Zachariah's fur all up on end…She shuddered, feeling proud of Miss Heliotrope for being meek and patient and not like Loveday's governess.

"They couldn't live together at all in the end. Sir Benjamin came up with the brilliant idea of giving her the task of minding a main gate of Silverydew. An important enough job to satisfy a proud woman such as old Elspeth is, while far away from our cook. Digweed still sees her when he goes into town, but oddly enough Digweed's never minded females so much as the cook or his master, and they've always gotten along fine anyhow."

"I see," Maria said, nodding, turning back to the patchwork comforter she was currently mending. (It had been hers in London, and after fixing a few tears-most of which were Wiggins' fault from back when he was a puppy and going through his teething state-she meant to put it in as one of the final pieces of her trousseau.) She couldn't help but wonder whether or not she herself would have gotten along very well with Elspeth, or if, perhaps, strange as it might be, her being a female and all, she would have taken Marmaduke's part.

Two mornings after her trousseau was flawlessly completed (Maria should have been in bed at that hour but for some reason was not), she opened her bedroom window to find a beam of sunshine too warm and golden to belong to the winter season. On the branch of the nearest tree there was a little bird; a robin. And there was no snow no matter how far she strained her eye; not a single white patch remained. Spring was at Moonacre in earnest now.

The hour was soon upon them in which they would take Loveday's wedding dress out for the second time. It seemed to fit better than it had when she'd first tried it on, Maria noticed, feeling less like a child playing dress-up and more akin to a real bride.

Perhaps, she thought, that's how you know you're ready, when you don't feel silly.

The marriage ceremony was to be held, contrary to their usual activities, during the day, but the feast afterwards, for which Marmaduke Scarlet had been cooking like he'd never cooked before, simply out-doing himself in the wonder of the little sandwiches and cakes and glorious dishes of so many different colours and textures, was to be held in the evening, so that the Wrolfs could go outside without turning into lions.

For jewelry, Maria wore a gold locket the size of a duck's egg, loaned to her by Miss Heliotrope, and a great ruby ring set in white-gold which Sir Benjamin had given his future daughter-in-law as an early wedding present. The ring was much too big and kept slipping off her finger, yet she wore it as proudly as if it had been fitted for her hand and her hand alone.

The animals were done-up for the occasion as well. Digweed gave Wiggins' fur a proper washing and made sure he didn't eat anything too messy so as to muss up his muzzle and look undignified on such an important occasion. Zachariah's coat of black velvet looked even glossier than usual, though no one save the great cat himself could take any credit for that. Serena wore a green ribbon and white bow about her neck, given to her lovingly by Maria directly before the ceremony was to start. And Periwinkle, despite the fact she was out in the stables and not in the manor watching the wedding, had her coat brushed and her mane combed with extra care by Digweed as well; she had, after all, to look nice if the prince and princess, newly married, decided they wanted to go riding that night after the festivities were completed.

"Oh," said Miss Heliotrope, willing herself not to cry as Maria entered the room in her bridal clothes so the ceremony could be begun, "she does look so lovely, doesn't she?"

"Yes," sighed Loveday, looking a touch forlorn. "It is such a pity that the moon pearls of the first moon princess disappeared after she cast that horrid curse; they would have looked _so_ delightful with Maria's colouring and that dress! I wish I'd thought to give her something with moon-stones at least."

"Dearest Loveday," Miss Heliotrope said to that, "I don't think she notices if anything is missing."

"That's true," she had to agree; for Maria's attention was on the beaming face of her bridegroom and was utterly oblivious to anything else.

"I say," Miss Heliotrope wondered after a pause, "who are those children at the door? Over there, by the yew garden, peering in…don't you see them?"

"Those are the children of Silverydew," said Loveday, turning round and waving at the ones close enough to see her and not only the bride and bridegroom. "Look, there is Maria's little friend Peterkin Pepper, riding on the shoulders of one of his elder brothers so that he can see better."

"Do you think she notices they've come? And without their parents?"

"Perhaps." Loveday shrugged her shoulders. "Or perhaps not. I can't really see how it matters. She'll be delighted when she thinks of it later, I daresay, but now she wouldn't notice them if they were screaming at the top of their voices."

"I never thought, no offense, I do beg your pardon, that the day would come on which I would see Maria, not only married, but married in a manor and not a church."

"The church here isn't really functioning," Loveday admited. "Not since the Parson died. No one has hired a new minister, they haven't got the heart, poor souls."

"Ah," said Heliotrope, nodding. "I see. But I'm not sure…Is Marmaduke Scarlet actually licensed to marry people? He's a remarkable person, but…"

"He doesn't need to be licensed," interjected Sir Benjamin in a cheerful whisper, leaning over. "He can do as he pleases, no one objects. Not to him."

"And why not?"

"Because," replied Sir Benjamin as if it were obvious, "he's Marmaduke Scarlet."

Miss Heliotrope wasn't sure she understood, but she accepted his answer anyway because, strangely, it made some sense; the sort that could be comprehended in a glance or a breath of a simple word, but never logically explained; nor did it need to be.

"Oh!" Loveday reached over and squeezed her husband's hand. "Darling, they're exchanging rings now. I've never seen Maria smile widely, I'm so happy I could cry. Robin looks so tall and handsome in those clothes. Aren't you glad Maria hemmed them? The breeches would have been a good deal too long on him and ruined the effect if she hadn't had such good sense about caring for these things."

"Loveday," said Sir Benjamin, "please be quiet a moment. I can't understand a word Marmaduke Scarlet is saying; I do wish he'd keep his speeches simple."

"Oh, he has," chuckled Loveday; "_simply_ impossible to follow."

"Not funny." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Maria and Robin don't seem to mind, though I can't say I know what all of those words mean myself, either," Miss Heliotrope declared.

"I wish Digweed would have stayed awake," Loveday noted, seeing that the little manservant's eyes were closed and certain that she could hear faint snoring. "But it isn't his fault. Marmaduke's speeches make me feel sleepy sometimes, too. Elspeth was right about_ that_, at least, though I'd never say so to the cook; I'm sure he'd be deeply offended and give notice."

"Then see that you don't," her husband reminded her. "And please, I know you're a woman and must speak most of the time, but can't you be silent for a few moments? This is a terribly important day, you know."

"I hope, Benjamin," Loveday said sympathetically, "that you don't think this is our moment of release from the curse; for I've rather the feeling it isn't. There isn't any pride-swallowing in marrying a prince, you know, even if he is under an enchantment. There is love, but I don't think it'll change our troubles, or break any spells, as of the moment."

"Now that you mention it," Sir Benjamin confessed, "that is what I was hoping. But it was wishful thinking."

"Don't fret, she's young, there is plenty of time; and they _are _so happy together."

Maria turned and smiled at the young man who was now her husband. She noticed that as a ray of light from the open window (the children watching them had moved out of the way, no longer blocking the light) fell on Robin's side, his face and hair looked ebony, the colour of his lion-self. For the first time that day, she remembered the curse and felt sorry for the Wrolfs all over again, wondering how she could have forgotten so completely up till that moment.

Digweed awoke from his slumped slumber and, standing up, wobbled over to the window to close the shutters. Noticing the children looking wistful outside, he informed them that if they were careful not to stay for too long (for it isn't a good thing for very little children to be out at all hours of the night) they might return later for the feast and be admitted into the manor itself.

"Digweed," said Robin, managing with some effort to tear his eyes away from Maria, "who are you talking to?"

Maria, leaning forward and straining her eyes in the heavily increasing sunlight (afternoon was coming on and, now that the ceremony was finished with, they all ought to be heading to bed so that they could have the energy to be up that night), recognized Peterkin.

"Robin, it's the children of Silverydew!"

"So it is."

"And Digweed's invited them back for tonight."

"Yes."

"But, oh, didn't Loveday say William Black was coming?" William Black had been a perfect recluse (Maria hadn't even met him yet), but he was coming for the wedding feast that night, per a written response to Sir Benjamin's polite invitation through the post.

"Well, yes, I think." Robin shrugged his shoulders.

"Has he got any family?"

"I don't know. Haven't seen the man in a while myself, Sweetheart. He might have."

Maria's face twisted into an anxious expression. "Will there be enough food for everyone? We weren't expecting very many guests; we only invited William, but supposing there are other Blacks? I'd not thought of that till right now. And all the children…they'll be hungry…and they _must_ have milk to drink, Robin."

"That's no problem for Marmaduke Scarlet." Robin glanced over at Zachariah, who was sprawled out in the hearth, lightly drawing something in the currently unswept ashes with his paw. "Zachariah says there's plenty for everyone and not to worry; he says he's been with Marmaduke all yesterday and saw everything cooked and baked. There's apparently enough to feed a hundred times more guests than we're expecting."

"Oh." Maria sighed in relief. "That's all right, then."

"Digweed." Loveday rose from her place. "Digweed. Come away from the window now. Everyone has left."

"Someone's here, Mam." He blinked innocently. "In the yew garden, and it isn't a child."

"Then for pity's sake, Digweed," snapped Sir Benjamin, "ask whoever it is what they want and then go to bed so you can attend to us tonight."

"He's too far from the window."

Sir Benjamin scowled. "Go out, then. There we are. Really, it isn't so difficult. It isn't as if _you'll_ turn into a lion if you step out into the daylight."

Digweed obeyed but asked that Maria come with him.

"Why?" Robin more or less demanded.

"I don't want to go on my own, Sir. The feller doesn't want to talk to _me_, I'm sure of it."

Sir Benjamin rolled his eyes. "Go on, Maria, we'll have no peace unless you do. Digweed, have it your own way, but don't make a habit of this. I've never known you to be a flighty servant for all your ways, and I hope you aren't starting now."

"No, Sir. This'll be the only time, then, Sir."

Maria ran out into the yew garden, surprised when Digweed didn't follow, standing a few feet away with his hands behind his back. She would have protested, but something in his manner reminded her just a bit of Periwinkle's loyally standing at the edges of the forest, waiting for her. Except, of course, with one major difference; she hadn't told Digweed to stay behind, as she had with Periwinkle, he did that all on his own.

She was prepared, all the same, to tell Digweed not to leave and go back into the manor without her. His waiting behind was all right, but if he left her…when things were feeling so strange…she wasn't sure she could handle that.

Then, amongst the tallest of the oddly-pruned and crudely-shaped yews, she saw him; the old man, Louis de Fontentelle.

He wore a stiff, well starched collar, shinned black leather shoes, and a chocolate brown waistcoat over a pair of suit-slacks, as if he'd known it was a wedding day and had come dressed properly though he wasn't going inside.

"You," whispered Maria, feeling thrilled.

"Good day to you, Maria Wrolf." He smiled at her.

"Who are you really?" She wanted to know.

"I am who I said I was," he said, still smiling. "And if it's a name you're asking for, I'm under the impression that you know it already."

Yes, she thought, that's true enough; he is such an awful clever old man!

"I have some advice for you," said the old man in tone that most people would have spoken with under their breath nearly inaudibly but he himself spoke clearly when he used.

"What is it?" Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Robin, in his Lion form, was standing next to Digweed; not out of curiosity, but, rather, concern.

The black lion watched the old man whisper something to his bride. The chap looked extremely familiar, but he couldn't place him, much as he would have sworn he knew him from someplace. Perhaps, if the man had been a little closer, less in the distance, shaded by the yew he was bent under, Robin would have recognized him at once.

Maria left the man and came back to them, lifting the skirts of her wedding dress so that she could walk back over to her lion bridegroom and her manservant without tripping.

"What did he say?" Robin asked when she was close enough to hear him.

Maria shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. I couldn't really understand him."

Was that the truth? Maria had never lied to him before, but there was something off about her when she said that.

He tried another question. "Who was he?"

"Louis de Fonetelle, that's his name."

"Maria," said Robin, a little sharply, blinking in confusion, "that's impossible. That man cannot be who you say he is."

She frowned, also puzzled now. "Why not?"

"_Because_," he explained, shaking his head, "Louis de Fonetelle was our old parson…the one who died four years ago."

**AN: Please review.**


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